FHE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


WILLIAM  A.  NITZE 


OUTBOUND 

BY 

GOTTFRIED  HULT 

AUTHOR   OF 

REVERIES  AND   OTHER  POEMS 


1920 

THE  STRATFORD  COMPANY 
Publishers 

BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 


Copyright  1920 

The  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
Boston,  Mass. 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


PS 


In  it! tmortj  of  ffli)  jffluiltcr 


Contents 

PAGE 
Outbound          .       ^.          .          .          .          .       1 

Microcosm         ......       2 

Starglade          ......       4 

Caryatids          ......       5 

"A  Lover  of  Beauty  He"         .         ...       6 

Delving  ......       7 

"For  a  Little  Season"     .         .         .         .       8 

"Behold  This  Dreamer  Cometh"         .         .9 
Summum  Bonum      .          .          .          .          .10 

Selfhood 13 

Uncut  Leaves  ......     14 

Desert   and   River    .         .          .         .         .15 

"I  Dreamed  That  Dream  Was  Quenched"   .     16 

False   Gods 19 

"Back  to  the  Hills" 20 

Genesis    .......     22 

At   Vesper 23 

Endless  Quest  ......     24 

Resignation       .          .          .          .          .          .26 

De  Profundis  .  27 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Great  Refusal   .         .         ...  .28 

Judgment         .         .         .         ,         .  .51 

Good  Friday    .         .         .      ||j         .  .     52 

Sabbath  .         .         .         ...  .53 

Vita    Brevis     .         ...         .  .54 

At   School        .         .         .         .         .  .55 

Electric  Peak  .         .         .         .         .  .59 

Love's    Epiphany     .         .         .         .  .60 

Song       ,         .         .         .         .         .  .61 

Interim    .         .         .    •'....      .         .  .62 

Tryst        .          .          .          .          .          .  .63 

"As   Weds   the   Skimming   Dove"    .  .     64 

Aspiration        .         ,         *         ,         .  .     65 

Plighted  .         .         .         ...  .66 

'  'As  Grows  an  Isle ".         .         .        '.  .68 

Holy  Matrimony       .         ',         .         ',  .69 

The  Brook       .         .         .         .         .  .     70 

My  Daughter  .         .                   ,         .  .72 

To  Father  at  Eighty  .         .         .         .  .     73 

Ad  Matrem     ...         .         .  .74 

Condolence       ,         .         .         .         .  .75 

Acknowledgment       «         .         .         .  .76 

Calamus  .         ,         .         .         .         .  .77 

To  A.  W.  G.   .         .         .         .         .  .     78 

Exodus  79 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Coincidence      i  ;    '  ••         »  "'•  ?  ^     '••'?•  ••'••      •     80 
Recognition      .         .         .         .         i         •     81 

Founders'    Day         .         .         .         .         .     86 

"Mothering"    .         .         .         v       .         •     93 
Valedictory      .         .         .         .         .'         .95 

Progress  .         .         .         .         .         .         .96 

Ambition  .          .         .-'        .          .          .98 

"A  Blur  of  Buildings"   .         .      r  .         .99 
' 'In  My  Father's  House ".         .         .         .104 

Out-of-Doors    .         .         .'  .         .105 

Adolescence      .         .         .  .         .  106 

Lake  Louise 107 

The  Kingbird 108 

A  Threnody     .         .         .         .         .         .109 

A    Mountain    Sunrise       ....  110 

Presence  .......  Ill 

"I  Am" 114 

Penelope 115 

Night      4 116 

"In  the  Cool  of  the  Day"  .         .         .         .117 

The  Hills 119 

Essence    .         .         .         .         .         .         .120 

"When  the  Waves  Slip  Back"  .         .         .127 
Song  of  Unrest 128 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
"Times  Be  When  Life  Seems  Aimless  and 

Uncouth"       .         .         .         .         .130 

Moods      .         .         .         .         ...   131 

Surf        .         .         .         ....  132 

Cause  and  Effect 134 

En  Route 135 

Kelp 136 

The  Melting  Pot  .  .         .   145 

Democracy        ......  146 

Advent    .......   154 

Gestant    .......  155 

In  Campo   Dei  Fiori        ....   156 

The  Tragic  Muse 159 

April  23 160 

"And  All  the  Gods  Were  Gazing  on  Them"  161 

If 162 

Illusion    .  163 

Winter   Mist  .   164 


Outbound 

A  FRAUGHT  ship  backs  from  her  pier, 
Midst  a  flutter  of  farewell  hands : 
And  who  can  think  her  voyage  begun 
For  transoceanic  lands  ? 

Thus  Song  unmoored  from  the  heart: 
And  who  divines  of  her  goal, 
As  she  swings  into  open  seas  of  Time, 
And  far  horizons  of  Soul? 


[1] 


OUTBOUND 


Microcosm 

WHERE  flits  the  seedling  soul,  who  knoweth, 

Of  worlds  to  be? 
Still  whitherso  it  listeth  bloweth 

The  Spirit  free. 

A  flake  the  winter  welkin  moulted 

In  passing  o'er; 
A  film  of  moss  where  seas  revolted 

Against  the  shore ; 

A  fern  or  fledgling  in  the  forest, 

Or  mother  bird: 
Doubt  not  wherever  need  was  sorest, 

Each  ministered. 

In  least  as  in  the  greatest,  seething 

What  potencies!     ^ 
Perished  infinitudes  bequeathing 

Not  more  than  these. 

[2] 


MICROCOSM 

The  earth-ship  hath  aboard  her  oceans 

And  sails  the  sky: 
I,  freighted  with  as  deep  emotions, 

Sail  heavens  as  high. 


[3] 


OUTBOUND 


Starglade 

SOFT  astral  shimmer  on  the  spirit  deep, 
Glinting  my  dreams  a  path  wherein  to  sail, 

Glinting  my  oaring  thoughts  the   course  they 

keep 
Along  the  silken  trail. 

O  star,  scarce  visible  in  enmurking  mist, 
From  out  what  loam  of  dark,  the  single  flower, 

Distilling  like  a  perfume  on  the  whist 
Sea  of  a  midnight  hour ! 

Only  a  faintest  echo  of  the  sun, 

Or  hint  of  full  moon's  flooding,  yet  through 

thee 
How  distant  I  from  shores  of  self,  upon 

The  still  and  wistful  sea ! 


[4] 


CARYATIDS 


Caryatids 

PERPETUAL  caryatids,  these,  of  Song: 
Beauty,  that  fashions  from,  a  little  clay 
The  rose,  and  ushers  dawn  out  of  the  gray 
Before  the  Sun,  swift  for  his  course  and  strong ; 
And  Love,  heaven's  compensation  for  the  wrong 
Of  birth  to  one  who,  spirit,  fain  would  stay 
With  Spirit,  yet  unsphered  must  tread  the  way 
Of  human  years,  meandering  and  long. 
A  caravan  of  ships  on  desert  seas, 
We  sail  the  moonglade,  Beauty;  and  afar 
Uprisen,  guides  us  Love,  a  changeless  star. 
Oh,  when  all  lips  are  silent,  chanting  these, 
Nor  lingering  echo  of  their  praise  shall  be, 
Time's  outposts  have  o'erpassed  eternity! 


[5] 


OUTBOUND 


"A  Lover  of  Beauty  He" 

' '  WHAT  can  we  know  of  Him  Who,  knowing  all, 

Himself  is  known  of  none !"...!  mused,  and 

back 
From  revery  summoned  thought,  the  rise  and  fall 

Of  ocean  surf  before  me.   There  all  black, 
The  perfect  rondure  of  a  far-off  wave 

Upclomb  out  of  the  clasp  of  tide  at  full, — 
Hung  poised,  and  shoreward  thunderously  drave : 

And  all  the  sea  behind  was  carded  wool. 
Then  culling  from  that  fleece  of  foam  a  shell, — 

So  irised  and  so  fashioned  by  the  main, 
It  seemed  like  something  wondrous  that  befell, 

What  time  a  heart  of  its  own  dream  was  fain, — 
Quickly  I  spake :  ' '  Whatever  else  may  be, 

Yet  know  we  this :  a  Lover  of  Beauty,  He ! " 


[6] 


DELVING 


Delving 

DELVING,  delving,  with  sweat  of  brow ! 

Alas  for  isthmus  delvers  who  bow 

'Neath  lives  of  drudging,  nor  glimpse  in  these 

The  interlinking  of  seas ! 

Delving,  delving,  with  sweat  of  brain! 
Alas  for  isthmus  delvers  who  strain, 
Of  Goal  unwitting  in  what  is  done: 
Truth  oceanic  made  One ! 


m 


OUTBOUND 


"For  a  Little  Season" 

FOR  a  little  season,  upon  a  time, 

There  soared  and  sang  a  bird  in  the  blue: 
Autumn  might  come  but  now  'twas  prime, 

And  prime  must  be  caroled,  was  all  it  knew. 

Swamp  and  meadow-land,  mountain  and  moor,- 
All  the  world  but  a  vision  for  Song ! 

Molten  snows  but  new  livery  sure 

Of  leaf  and  blossom — ere  long !  ere  long !  .  . 

Idled  a  hunter  by — espied 

That  Bliss  aloft  in  its  airy  reels: 

' '  Be  loam  for  battening  weeds  to  hide ; 
Be  clay  to  bake  into  ruts  for  wheels ! ' ' 

Spake, — and  the  arrow  aimed  let  fly, 
And  loitered  onward  with  careless  tread: 

Alone  and  silent,  the  endless  Sky 
Gazed  adown  on  the  Singer  dead.  .  .  . 


[8] 


"BEHOLD  THIS  DREAMER  COMETH" 


"Behold  This  Dreamer  Cometh" 

COMETH  the  Dreamer !  Afar  off,  lo ! 
Treading  pensive  .  .  .   'tis  he,  we  know. 

Ay,  with  his  multicolor  coat  on, — 

One,  forsooth,  for  our  Father  to  dote  on! 

He  dreameth  dreams  of  obsequious  sheaves, 
Whose  homage,  upright  his  sheaf  receives; 

Rehearseth  us,  too,  by  day  all  complacent, 
Of  sun  and  moon  and  eleven  stars  obeisant. 

Who  saith  to  rend  him  not  limb  from  limb  ?— 
Into  the  pit  with  him !  .  .  . 


[9] 


OUTBOUND 


Summum  Bonum 

THERE  stands  a  pine-tree  amid  northern  winters, 
Casting  a  shadow  upon  endless  snow, 

Long  nights,  or  wrestling  with  the  storm  that 

splinters, 
And  strews  its  tortuous  path  with  overthrow. 

Reared  on  a  mountain  side  that  climbs  to  bleak 
ness, 

Branching,  it  fain  would  consummate  a  crown ; 
Yet,  lest  in  moments  it  forget  its  weakness, 

The  avalanche  around  it  thunders  down. 

Cloud  caravans  that  come  out  of  the  spaces, 
Burning  with  sunset  desert-like  at  eve, 

Over  it  linger  as  o'er  an  oasis, 
And  mists  that  pasture  for  a  while  and  leave. 

Thus  day  succeeding  day,  and  season,  season, 
Beneath  the  gray,  beneath  the  dark  of  sky, 

Awed,  it  doth  ask  itself  its  being's  reason — 
Whence  sprung  out  of  the  vasty  All,  and  why. 

[10] 


SUMMUM  BONUM 

"Stood   I   but   where,   less   mute,   the   heavens 
responded, 

Circled  me  beauty  as  the  sea,  an  isle, 
I  might  be  yielding  fruit  as  palm-tree  fronded, 

Which  watereth  the  intermittent  Nile. 

"Environed  by  a  tenderness  of  bosom 
And  eyes  like  that  wherewith  the  Southland 

teems, 
My  life,  even  here,  would  have  been  song  and 

blossom, 
Nor  stood,  the  eremite  of  its  own  dreams. "... 

Becoming  thus  articulate  in  its  sighing, 
One  night  with  the  hush  universe  alone, 

Faintly  from  out  of  depths  like  cadence  dying, 
A  Voice  it  seemed  to  hear — perchance,  its  own : 

' '  Whatso  the  Power  that  wrought  this  f orestation 
Of  earth  with  soul, — by  whatsoever  plan, 

Surely  it  wills  that  each  one's  consummation 
Of  selfhood  be  the  uttermost  he  can ; 

"That  whoso  rise,  their  branches  interlinking, 
Withstanding  so  as-  grove  the  whirlwind  wroth, 

Confederate  be  unto  the  end  of  sinking 
Boots  deeper  for  a  yet  more  stalwart  growth ; 

[11] 


OUTBOUND 

"But  he  who  stands  withdrawn  aloft  and  lonely, 
What  days  'twixt  birth  and  death  shall  inter 
vene, 

May  consecrate  himself  unto  this  only : 

To  keep  the  nesting-place  of  Spirit  green." 


[12] 


SELFHOOD 


Selfhood 

I  LAY  and  lent  a  darkling  cricket  ear: 

One  eeriest  note  out  of  its  joys  and  griefs, 

The  while  an  ocean,  muffled  yet  anear, 

Thundered  upon  a  thousand  broken  reefs. 


[13] 


OUTBOUND 


Uncut  Leaves 

OFTEN  in  volume  loaned  me,  as  I  turn 

The  pages,  although  glossed  and  underlined, 
Leaves  that  by  chance  were  left  uncut,  I  find, 

Leaves  that,  slit  open,  are  like  beds  of  fern — 

Come  upon  in  some  forest's  heart — trees  spurn 
The  noon  from  by  their  branches  intertwined ; 
Or  like  some  mountain  tarn,  recessed  behind 

Crags,  and  reflecting  stars  that  o'er  it  burn. 
Delicate  and  elusive  things,  a  nook 

Of  uncut  leaves  may  hold :  shy  lyric  dreams, 

Meant  not  for  gaze,  hardly  for  glimpse  of  light ; 
Or  sonnet,  in  that  solitude  of  book, 
All  shimmery  and  soft  with  astral  gleams — 

Peered  in  upon  by  none  save  me  and  night. 


[14] 


DESERT  AND  RIVER 


Desert  and  River 

Unto  its  River  spake  the  Desert:  "Why 
Idly  glassing  the  heavens  meander  by  ? 
Be  outpoured  here  whereso  is  thirst,  and  grow 
Thy  mirrored  heavens  below." 

Unto  the  Desert  spake  its  River :  "  Be 
Henceforth  a  Garden  through  this  boon  of  me: 
Myself  an  empty  channel,  do  thou  teem 
With  the  surrendered  Dream." 


[15] 


OUTBOUND 


"I  Dreamed  That  Dream  Was  Quenched" 

I  dreamed  that  Dream  was  quenched, 

And  my  heart  blenched 

At  how  the  world  emptied  itself  of  joy. 

Of  Spring,  erewhile  so  fresh, — 

Spring  with  the  heart  of  trysting  maid  and  boy, 

The  spirit  flower  seemed  gone  to  seed  in  flesh. 

Of  Summer,  with  her  sheen 

At  the  meeting-place  of  heavenly  and  terrene, 

Evanished,  too,  the  soul!  nor  without  it 

Was  morning  any  longer  exquisite. 

Forests,  that  are  but  seaweed  of  the  sky, 

A  stranded  ooze  did  seem  of  space  gone  dry. 

There  was  no  mystery  in  things,  no  spell 

Of  bird-song  in  the  air,  no  nacre  on  the  shell. 

No  lingering  afterglows  of  twilight  eves, 

Nor  autumn's  red  apocalyptic  leaves, 

Oped  Eevery  a  visionary  page. 

Bose  drearily  the  sun,  as  in  a  cage 

Some  tawny  bulk,  once  leonine,  upheaves 

To  be  its  living  pendulum.    The  moon, 

Appearing  moth-white  from  its  cloud-cocoon, 

[16] 


I  DREAMED  THAT  DREAM  WAS  QUENCHED 

Became  the  murky  wraith  of  old  eclipse. 

No  more  the  sea  was  Sea, 

Fathomless,  as  to  thought,  eternity, 

In  wonted  might  uphurled, 

But  only  the  vast  sepulchre  of  ships, 

Whose  ghosts,  at  ebbing  tide, 

Disbodied  of  incrusted  wreckage,  eyed 

Afar  the  stark,  cold,  and  dismembered  world. 

In  that  drear  time, 

Man  knew  no  longer  youth  or  prime ; 

The  newly-born  seemed  old  incredibly. 

A  delver  within  ruined  hills  for  ore, 

Ten  thousand  years  and  more, 

Emerged  into  white  noon,  had  been  as  he, — 

So  shriveled  up  with  night,  so  cursed  with  grime. 

More  terror  than  befalls  from  Nature's  hand, 

At  lancing  of  Volcano's  pent-up  ache, — 

More  desolation  than  of  fire  and  quake 

He  wrought  upon  the  land. 

For  in  the  age's  wake, 

Wonder  and  Song  had  ceased  to  be; 

And  battle-flags  were  rent  for  scullionry; 

And  Love  was  plucked  as  theme  from  the  world 's 

tomes. 
His  pauseless  toil  I  saw 

[17] 


OUTBOUND 

Make  brick  with  gathered  straw : 

Rose  bastions,  wherein  Life  immured  itself; 

Rose  glutless  vaults  of  pelf; 

And  everywhere  were  palaces  and  domes, — 

But  Joy  was  not,  nor  any  hush  for  Awe. 

Still  thought  made  feint  to  explore 

The  universe  for  lore; 

But  moulted  was  the  very  sense  of  truth, — 

Impossible  save  to  miracle  and  youth! 

Nor  work  was  wrought  but  bore 

Evidence  that  the  heart  within  was  blind, — 

That  impotent  is  the  dream-widowed  mind. 

Thus  Man  strained  on  and  on 

From  futile  deed  to  futile  deed  and — died: 

And  the  air  clarified 

Of  smoke  from  kilns  and  mills;  and  presently 

Afar  I  seemed  to  see 

Earth  and  the  planets,  hollow-eyed  and  hagged, 

In  horrible  hellish  dance,  that  never  flagged, 

About  the  bubbling  caldron  of  the  sun. 


[18] 


FALSE  GODS 


False  Gods 

THERE  be  who  scorn  the  true  god,  Heart, 
But  kneel  them  down  to  Mind; 
Take  Learning  by  the  hand  and  leave 
Feeling  her  mate  to  find; 
And  there  are  feet  so  much  in  haste 
Love  pants  and  falls  behind. 

There  be  who  make  a  whip  of  fact 

For  scourging  Truth  away; 

Who  buy  and  sell,  making  exchange 

Of  Soul  for  things  of  clay : 

But  hoarding  is  a  thrift  makes  poor 

Ever  with  such  as  they. 

If  drouth  will  age  the  lucid  lake 
Into  a  fen  of  slime; 
If  deserts  burn  where  liquid  seas 
Ean  blue  in  earth's  dim  prime — 
God  pity  hearts  whose  love  hath  died 
Beneath  unpitying  Time! 


19] 


OUTBOUND 


"Back  to  the  Hills" 

IN  moments  when  I  rent  the  robe  I  wore, 
And,  naked  of  illusion,  shook  with  chills, 

Suddenly  have  I  heard  it  o'er  and  o'er: 
Back  to  the  hills,  0  soul,  back  to  the  hills ! 

The  plain  I  trod  being  littered  with  dead  hopes, 
The  valley,  too,  a  cup  the  winter  fills, 

Then  wafted  me  like  warmth  from  pine-green 

slopes : 
Back  to  the  hills,  0  soul,  back  to  the  hills ! 

Never  so  care-beset  the  heart  in  me, 

Never  so  matted  o'er  and  choked  with  ills, 

But  the  same  still  small  Voice  came  pleadingly: 
Back  to  the  hills,  0  soul,  back  to  the  hills ! 

Yea,  when  I  doubted  Man,  not  merely  men, 
Spat  upon  Fame,  and  wished  me  with  the  wills 

And  hopes  and  dreams  of  Time  extinct — even 

then: 
Back  to  the  hills,  0  soul,  back  to  the  hills ! 

[20] 


''BACK  TO  THE  HILLS" 

Everywhere,  everywhen,  in  teen  and  strain, 
Iterant  in  my  heart  like  singing  rills! — 

Death  calling  me,  will  it  not  come  again : 
Back  to  the  hills,  0  soul,  back  to  the  hills  ?  . 


[21] 


OUTBOUND 


Genesis 

My  life  seems  but  an  inchoate  mass  of  years, 
Groping  through  an  eternity  of  space, 
Having  its  future  orbit  still  to  trace 
Somewhere  and  somehow  in  the  realm  of  spheres. 
No  beacon  of  its  destined  glory  cheers, 
Nor  hints  a  first  faint  glimmering  of  grace 
The  slow  transfiguration  to  take  place 
Ere  Love,  its  new-created  Lord,  appears. 
Give  it  to  pass  through  any  strain  and  stress 
Of  fire  and  earthquake  needed  to  perfect; 
Sculpture  with  flood,  to  winnowing  storm  sub 
ject; 

Brood  o  'er  the  welter  with  Thy  consciousness ; 
Give  it  Thine  own  perfection  to  reflect, 
God,  Thou  world-builder  and  star-architect! 


[22] 


AT  VESPER 


At  Vesper 

I  SAID  :  ' '  Since  out  of  travail  come  no  yields 
Commensurate   with    the    ceaseless    strain    and 

stress, 

Why  not  forego  the  more,  accept  the  less? 
I  will  eschew  being  as  one  who  wields 
Power,  and  live  emulous  of  him  who  shields 
His  sunward  eyes  from  noonday  light's  excess — 
Content  myself  with  bovine  placidness, 
One  of  the  human  herd  at  graze  in  fields." 
Then  smote  upon  my  ear  this  Voice:  "0  gross 
Of  spirit,  whimpering  thus  for  meed  denied! 
Knowest  not  perfect  service,  guerdon  mars? 
To  unfulfilment  Faith  her  being  owes ; 
Anhungered,  Aspiration  doth  abide : 
Thereby  is  the  longevity  of  stars."  .  .  . 


[23] 


OUTBOUND 


Endless  Quest 

SOMETHING  I  seek,  never  found — 

A  bourne  of  longing,  a  bound 

Of  hope;  something  beyond  the  gale 

That  says :  "I  am  haven :  furl  sail ! ' ' 

Something  that  whispers:  "Peace! 

I  am  surcease 

Of  the  strife— 

Life."  .  .  . 

In  vain !  in  vain ! 

I  cannot  attain 

Goal — quest,  grope,  strain,  as  I  may 

Alway!  .  .  . 

I  paused  in  a  market  thoroughfare, 

With  its  traffic  and  trade  ceasing  ne'er — 

Eyed  wares  in  a  booth: 

Printed  pages  were  there  to  sell,  not  Truth. 

It  flew  over  my  head,  a  bird, 

Limed  never  with  speech,  caged  never  in  word. 

I  paused  before  fields:  like  a  fleet 

Of  clouds  in  sunset,  the  wheat ; 

[24] 


And  I  looked  for  Pleasure,  root-anchored  too: 

Past  me  on  powdery  wings  it  flew, 

A  butterfly  soft, 

Fluttering  hither  and  yon  and  aloft. 

By  night  I  canoed  a  stream, 

Sown  with  the  constellations  therein  agleam; 

And  I  looked  for  Love  as  the  central  star : 

It  was  afar,  afar, 

In  a  spirit  blue, 

Not    in    the    mirrored    Milky    Way    splashed 

through.  .  .  . 
Quest,  ever! 
Attainment — never ! 

So  I,  drawing  breath; 
So  too,  haply,  in  death. 


25] 


OUTBOUND 


Resignation 

CLOSE  the  door  on  the  Hope  that  would  win 
Entrance  from  blackness  and  storm  without; 

Though  the  heart  to  the  core  grow  dry  within 
As  mummied  pod  after  summer's  drought. 

Close  the  door,  then  hie  thee  to  bed 

To  flood  thee  with  sleep  as  a  shore  with  tide ; 
Nor  yield  unto  filmiest  dream,  lest  the  tread 

Without  through  the  long  long  night  abide.  .  .  . 


[26] 


DE  PROFUNDIS 


De  Profundis 

IMPOTENT  as  one  sick  upon  his  bed, 
Between  the  intervals  of  fever  throes, 
Who  hears  a  soft  hand  knock  without,  and  knows 
That  he  must  leave  the  door  unopened ; 
And  trying  to  muster  feeble  breath  instead, 
Sinks  back  aswoon — ah  me !  even  in  such  wise 
All  impotent  at  hearkened  knock  to  arise, — 
And  have  I  swooned  at  Christ's  retreating  tread  ? 
Whatso  the  hours  or  moments  lush  with  sin 
Bring  forth  of  after-agony,  with  mute 
White  lips  we  needs  must  bow  and  kiss  the  rod ; 
But  where  we  cannot  do  or  fail  to  win, 
Weighed  down  in  weakness  as  a  bough   'neath 

fruit — 
The  rain  of  Thy  sweet  pity  and  grace,  Lord  God ! 


[27] 


OUTBOUND 


The  Great  Refusal 

"L'ombra  di  colui 
Che  fece  per  viltate  il  gran  rifiuto. ' ' 

Dante 
I 

IN  VAIN,  I  tell  thee,  leech,  thy  cunning  tries 
To  outwit  Death.  My  moon  has  known  its  full, 
Nor  quails  before  eclipse.    Thy  charmed  herbs 
Are  powerless  to  restore  this  waning  life. 
Nay,  bid  me  not  be  silent:  I  who  felt 
This  hand  too  weak  to  raise  and  intercept 
A  beetle,  had  it  headed  for  my  face; 
Who  swooned  into  such  mimicry  of  death, 
It  even  deceived  thyself — I  kenned  the  voice, 
Was  whispering  of  embalmment  when  I  awoke — 
Am  strong  to  speak,  must  speak,  ay,  though  I 

knew 
To  hold  my  peace  were  to  postpone  the  shroud ! 

II 

Mute  have  I  lain  here,   mute,  these  days  and 
nights, 

[28] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

And  would  have  gagged  delirium  itself 

And  throttled  madness,  lest  they  babbled  forth 

Thoughts  I  would  mate  with  silence.  My  doomed 

soul 

Plunged  on  amid  a  sea  that  clave  to  it, 
Clamorous  for  jetsam.  Why  then  these  my  words, 
This  late  surrender  to  demands  of  fate? 
I  know  not  by  what  mystic  law  the  heart, 
That  yields  to  no  brute  enginery  of  force, 
Yet  opens  at  the  summons  of  a  waft 
Of  vernal  air,  the  momentary  gold 
Of  dawn,  or  twilight  tinklings  of  the  flock. 
What  dungeons  catapults  could  not  have  budged, 
Angels  have  whispered  open.    Hence  I  speak. 
This  morning  through  the  casement  stole  a  breeze, 
The  softness  of  whose  touch  gave  evidence 
That  it  had  fanned  the  fig-tree,  laved  the  vine. 
Over  my  brow  it  shed  a  summer's  fragrance: 
I  grew  aware  it  was  the  Paschal  Month, 
And  all  my  being  began  to  undulate 
Like  wind-thrilled  flame ;  from  out  this  smolder 
ing  life, 

Thus  breathed  upon,  jetted  forth  sudden  fire, 
That  lit  up  all  my  past,  my  murky  past. 
The  Chosen  People  entire  I  saw  in  dream, 
How  parceled  out  in  caravans  they  converge 

[29] 


OUTBOUND 

To  brim  Jerusalem,  the  Sacred  City; 

And,  bedfast,  I  was  journeying  forth  in  thought 

To  wind  among  the  hills  and  vales  by  day, 

At  night  to  camp  beneath  Judean  stars, 

To  climb  with  song  Mount  Olivet,  to  descend 

And  stand  within  the  presence  of  Jehovah.  .  .  . 

I  burned  at  seeing  upon  the  Temple  still 

The  Roman  eagle,  oft  fatally  plucked  down 

By  Jewish  frenzy.    Yet  not  haughty  Rome's 

Oppression,  nor  my  own  exclusion  from 

The  Feast,  did  mingle  bitterness  with  morn, 

The  bitterness  ineffable  I  felt, 

Till  Hezekiah-like,  but  willing  to  die, 

I  turned  my  face  toward  the  wall  and  wept.  .  .  . 

Ill 

Have  patience  with  my  weakness.  Grant  me  still 
Some  moments'  truancy  from  drug  and  drowse, 
And  thou  shalt  glimpse  the  past  I  now  behold, — 
That  red  volcanic  past.    Its  memories 
Torment  a  dying  bed,  and  yet  it  cleanses 
To  meditate  a  great  soul's  tragic  end, — 
His  soul,  which  by  its  very  end  perdures. 
How  dowered  with  new  interpretative  sight 
Become  the  breaking  eyes !  how  consciousness, 
Already  irised  for  the  bursting,  holds 

[30] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

Film-mirrored  all  the  skies  of  bygone  life, 
And  planet  years,  arisen  like  fixed  stars ! 

0  God,  thou  Abraham's  God,  how  blind  was  I 
To  interlace  my  hands  about  the  gold 

Not  meant  for  chaffer  chink,  but  stuff  for  the 

ring, 

Had  married  me  unto  eternal  life ! 
For  if  life's  more  than  power  to  heave  one's 

breath, 
Than  something  seed,   nine  moons   enwombed, 

comes  by, 

Than  even  aught  sucked  in  with  mother's  milk, 
Or  what,  toil-worn,  meat,  drink,  and  sleep  renew, 
Then  long  ago  I  perished.    Man,  I  tell  thee, 
Albeit  not  livid-lipped,  a  thing  embalmed, 
May  yet  be  dead ;  still  alien  to  the  tomb, 
So  dead,  Damascus  steel  could  run  him  through, 
And  he  would  bleed  not.  Look  upon  me,  look ! 

1  was  not  still-born ;  sweet  maternal  lips 
Anguished  not  white  with  such  a  mockery, 
That  birth-hour :  swaddling  clothes  that  wrapped 

me,  wrapped 

Infinite  possibilities  of  passion, 
And  hopes  as  beautiful  as  ever  promised 
God  usury  on  his  loan  of  time  and  space. 
It  was  not  cerecloth  that  enwrapped  my  youth, 

[31] 


OUTBOUND 

But  broideries  fine  like  favored  Joseph's  coat 
Of  many  colors, — hiding,  too,  a  breast 
Not  less  athrob.  With  what  a  thrill  my  feet 
First  trod,  unsandaled,  sacred  temple  ground! 
How  gleams  that  flashed  from  Roman  shields 

and  glaives 

Smote  to  the  quick !  and  great  that  moment 's  awe, 
When  poring  over  Sacred  Eoll  I  knew, 
Solemn  and  sage  as  the  Great  Sanhedrin, 
Eternal  Duty,  Righteousness,  and  Law!  .  .  . 
Such  Vision  makes  one  Hebrew.   So  time  passed 
Apace.    I  entered  on  incipient  manhood, 
A  cypress  like,  not  as  it  emblems  death, 
But  greenly  spires,  slender  and  sensitive 
To  scurry  of  breezes.  Thick  as  leaves  my  dreams 
Hoarded  the  warmth  of  those  midsummer  years ; 
And  felt  first  love's  infinite  moonrise,  tranced, 
Sylvanly  tranced:  then  knelt  the  world  before 

me, 

Like  some  meek  camel  pleading  thus  relief 
From  overburden  of  pearl  and  orient  spice. 
What  wonder  if  its  driver,  that  rich  moment, 
Recked  not  of  leathern  water-flasks,  if  filled, 
Or  dangling  flabby  from  the  dumb  beast's  flank ! 
Who'd  task  me  such  forgetting  when  the  heavens 
Were  all  mirage  of  oasis?  .  .  .  Such  phase 

[32] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

Of  sense-life  passed  ere  youth,  already  prone 
To  that  world-seriousness  wherewith  our  race 
Is  dowered  uniquely.    Yet  I  could  not  scorn 
Beauty  for  holiness,  in  others'  wise, 
Nor  range  me  wholly  on  the  side  of  Truth, 
There  to  do  battle,  wealth  and  power  forsworn. 
The  riches  that  were  mine  by  heritage, 
I  clung  to  but  as  means,  fastidious 
In  choice  of  ends  thereby  to  be  attained. 
Yet  unrest  waxed  within  me.   Too  clear-eyed 
To  dupe  my  soul  with  vanities  and  dross,- — 
Cold  to  the  lure  of  tinseled  make-believes, 
I  quailed  at  the  fierce  brevity  of  life, 
Rust  and  the  moth.     The  chambered  past  out 
grown 

Of  individual  being,  soon  I  knew, 
Shuddering,  a  weird,  wizard,  other  Past 
Upon  me  lay  its  spell.  Lone  sites  of  ruin, 
Long  emptied  of  existence,  the  mind's  ear 
Peopled  with  ghostly  steps ;  old  rock-hewn  tombs, 
With  tenantry  from  some  forgotten  eld, 
And  dateless,  made  me  brood  till  bygone  days 
Became  the  sole  reality.    Emerged, 
And  back  again,  even  in  the  city's  flux, 
I  stocd  as  in  a  trance,  and  the  mind's  eye 
Sucked  midnight  out  of  noonday.    By  degrees 

[33] 


OUTBOUND 

All  zest  for  action  staled.    What  booted  deeds? 
Present  achievements  were  but  ultimate 
Futilities,  and  history  the  tale 
Of  fearful  disillusions.    Why  should  I 
With  toiling,  ant-wise,  vex  myself  for  naught  ? 
Thus,  by  its  bath  in  endlessness,  my  soul, 
Diseased  with  leprosy  of  too  much  self, 
Strove  to  be  purged,  and  only  sickened  more. 
What  wonder  that  my  body  sickened,  too? 
Illness  doth  often  wring  the  human  mind 
Dry  of  illusions.    The  fierce  fever-throe 
May  even  be  hot  enough  to  shrivel  self, 
And  wilt  one's  very  religion  into  myth. 
Unconscious  though  one  lie,  the  chemistry 
Of  pain  reacts  upon  one's  consciousness 
As  on  a  parchment  roll  to  be  erased 
For  new  and  alien  writ.    'Twas  so  with  me. 
Intensively  I  saw — up  from  the  bed — 
What  I  had  only  conned  by  rote  before. 
Back  in  the  synagogue  I  felt  myself 
Mutinous  'gainst  the  elders  who  there  Bit 
Lip-loyal  to  their  Talmud  lore.   Meseemed 
Feasts,  pilgrimages,  sacrifices,  tithes, 
Sabbaths  and  fasts,  are  dead  observances 
To  be  sloughed  off,  lest  true  religion  perish. 
Still  blushed  with  bloody  offering  our  altars, 

[34] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

And  sputtering  flames  attested  the  old  faith 
Did  linger.    Yet  'twas  semblance,  not  the  sub 
stance,- — 

An  empty  mockery  of  soulless  form. 
Better  a  Holy  of  Holies  without  fire, 
Arkless,  of  sacred  furniture  bereft, 
Than  cherubim  uninstinct  with  the  Presence. 
Ay,  better  Dagon,  so  the  scaly  god 
Evoked  from  hearts  the  veritable  Awe ! 
Thus  Reason  chafed  within  me  'gainst  a  faith 
No  longer  Faith, — nor  there  alone  in  doubt 
Questioned  where  once  elate  the  heart  believed. 
I  had  put  by  tenderly  as  dead  love 
The  apocalyptic  ecstasy  and  dream, 
The  poetry  of  Israelitish  hope. 
Who  quits  a  grave  half  filled,  and  turns  him 

homeward, 

Beholds  the  world  a  strange  new  phantom  world, 
Through  eyes  still  wet  with  utterless  farewells. 
' '  Must  Judah  perish,  Judah,  even  Judah, 
How  blank  the  world's  futurities  of  time!" 
Thus  cried  my  heart  within — and  then  anon: 
"If  Rome  be  but  Jehovah's  winnowing  flail, 
And  we  His  Chosen  Seed — but  no, — but  no — ! ' ' 
The  lightning  hissed  its  way  through  space,  and 
earth, 

[35] 


OUTBOUND 

A  moment  preternaturally  white, 

Reeled  back  into  engulfing  black  once  more.  .  .  . 

IV 

Pillow  me  up.    I've  strength.    My  tale  half  told 
Gives  me  momentum  for  what's  yet  to  tell. 
— A  leech,  thou  dost  recall  how  once  the  land 
Astonished  at  a  prophet  healer:  he 
Held  in  the  toils  of  wonder  his  own  province, 
And  captured  all  Judea's  gaze  at  last. 
Where'er  he  came  there  was  disease  abolished; 
Who  even  brushed  his  mantle  became  whole, 
However  broken ;  his  mere  whispered  name 
Made  sightless  eyes  to  see,  lame  feet  to  run. 
His  ministry  put  forth  its  noiseless  might 
Among  the  obscure  and  lowly,  yet  his  deeds 
Outmiracled  the  dreams  of  prophecy. 
Never  such  passion  for  another's  weal 
Enrobed  itself  in  Rabbi  's  talith :  mart, 
Hill,  plain,  where'er  his  shadow  a  moment  fell, 
Knew  an  unwonted  gentleness  abroad. 
The  hedge  and  highway  where  Levitic  feet 
Disdained  to  tread,  or  trod  to  bruise  and  crush 
The    chance-sown    blossom   that   co-dwelt    with 

weeds,  , 

Familiar  grew  with  his  mild  eyes  and  welcomed 

[36] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

As  friend  his  lofty  unphylaetered  brow. 
Unpopulous  the  hamlets  drowsed,  the  day 
He  taught  on  shore  or  mount.    The  multitude 
Listening  till  eve  felt  sunset  premature. 
Times  were  when  they  who  found  its  noonday 

shade 

Delectable,  and  whom  the  very  wealth 
Of  intervening  foliage  made  blind 
To  the  sun-anointed  brow,  august  o'erhead, 
Murmured  of  crowning  this  already  crowned 
Lebanon  cedar.    Were  Galilean  hills 
Speech-gifted,    spake   with   tongue   the   Judean 

desert, 

In  whose  mute  presence  oft  his  soul  lay  bare 
To  cooling  and  healing  night,  they  would  attest : 
Not  for  a  Purpose  veering  from  its  course, 
Nor    stayed — like    birds    of    passage,    light-be 
wildered, 

Or  clamor-dazed — gave  he  the  midnight  hours 
To  rapt  and  lone  devotion.    There  the  stars 
Beheld  one  purer  than  the  Tiberian  waves, 
That  crooned  about  the  hills  on  which  he  prayed ; 
And  if  they  twinkled  through  those  long  dim 

nights 

On   throne  ward  gropings,    'twas  a  Throne  not 
builded 

[37] 


OUTBOUND 

With  hands,  nor  upheld  by  legions.  .  .  .  One  must 
live 

Not  to  doubt  annals;  yet  experience 

The  ripest  feels  at  moments :  truce  to  dreams ! 

Reality 's  at  war  with  human  credence ! 

Leech,  he  who  walked  the  courts  of  prayer  at 
night 

To  quench  hosannas,  died  mock-crowned,  mock- 
mantled, 

Mock-sceptered !  .  .  . 


Ay,  the  water-cruse!  My  lips 
Grow  parched  with  speaking.   Thanks! — What's 

human  life 
But  quenchless   thirst;   and  if  one  come   who 

brings 

The  cup  we  swoon  for,  drouth-delirious  madmen, 
We  dash  it  down  and  curse  the  giver.  Once 
He  came  to  me :  I  strewed  the  ground  with  shards. 
— Beneath  the  acacia-tree,  a  stone 's  throw  hence, 
I  lounged  one  day  in  dreams,  his  dreams  who 

send_s 

His  soul  abroad,  searching  dim  time  for  light. 
Too  epic  life  fell  cold  upon  my  ear 
Listening :  it  strained  to  catch  from  far-off  deeds 


THE  GEEAT  REFUSAL 

The  seldom  note  of  the  lyric  human.    Chilled, 
I  wandered  'mid  marmoreal  coronals 
Of  past  dead  greatness,  till  a  prayer  for  life, 
Warm-pulsing  life  not  tombed  in  sacred  roll, 
Escaped  me.  Scarce  its  voice  was  hushed  when  lo, 
Emerging  in  the  reach  of  mellow  distance, 
A  nomad  band !   As  one  who  sees  afar 
Sluggishness  disengage  itself  from  cloud 
And  grow  into  a  sail,  at  gaze  I  stood, 
Expectant,  half  aware  some  strange  new  hope 
Was  near  its  natal  moment.  .  .  .  Sudden  gusts 
Made  shimmer  'mid  the  olive-groves ;  date-palms 
Loomed  lone  at  intervals.    What  loitering  folk 
Kept  nearing  yonder  ?  .  .  .  Now  a  dip  in  the  road 
Filched  them  from  sight. — Already  I  had  learned 
What  wondrous  things  wrought  one  of  Galilee, 
As  tidings  told;  the  like  sick  Naaman  thrilled, 
Hearkening  the  little  captive  maid.    Ere  long 
His  faring  might  be  hither.  .  .  .  Doubtless  these 
Were  only  paschal  pilgrims,  harbingered 
By  no  chance  fame.  .  .  .  Yet  haply — !  All  at  once 
My  heart  waxed  prescient  of  what  Visitant 
It  tarried,  and  I  straightway  hied  me  forth, 
Passionate  as  heat  upquivering  at  noon 
Sunward.    Anon,  our  meeting, — they  at  halt 
In  wonder.   Through  his  followers  I  plunged 

[39] 


OUTBOUND 

Infallibly  to  his  feet,  and  cried :  ' '  Good  Master, 
Declare  me  sooth,  beseech  thee,  wherewithal 
I  may  attain  as  thou  the  life  eterne ! "  .  .  . 
Somewhat  delayed  his  answer,  till  I  dared 
Lift  up  my  gaze.  ...  I  had  not  dreamed  our  race 
Could  flower  into  such  manhood  all  divine.  .  .  . 
But  language  skills  not!   That's  the  potter's  art, 
To  take  a  bit  of  docile  clay  and  with 
Creative  touch  make  it  a  cup  for  kings. 
Whose  art  shall  body  forth  in  clayey  words 
That   visioned   Cup,    shaped   for   the   King   of 

kings?  .  .  . 

For  something  even  in  that  face  of  his 
Bespake  a  greater  greatness  than  himself, 
A  soul  compassionate  beyond  compassion.  .  .  . 
"Good?  wherefore  call  me  good?"  he  breathed 

at  length 

Eeflectively.   "Who  is  there  such  but  God!" 
A  moment  he  let  intervene,  and  then — 
"Thou  knowest  the  commandments  of  the  law: 
Do,  and  thou  livest,"  came  his  quiet  words. 
Impulsively  brake  from  my  lips :  ' '  All  this 
I  've  kept  inviolably  even  from  youth. ' ' 
Then  what  unfathomed  tenderness  of  eyes, 
The  while  he  said :  ' '  One  thing  thou  lackest :  sell 
All  that  thou  hast  and  give  the  poor,  and  be 

[40] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

My  follower.    There  shall  then  be  thine  instead 
Treasure  in  heaven."  ...  I  arose,  stood  facing 

him. 

Meseemed  a  curtain  drew  asunder:  lo, 
What  scenery  to  baffle  sight:  sheer  mount, 
Precipice,  snow ;  nor  road  to  climb,  nor — goal !  .  .  . 
A  seascape,  not  the  blue  with  mottling  green 
Of  summer  sea,  but  whelming  shoreless  white, 
And  one  lone  ship's  distress!  .  .  .  Certes,  'twas 

Btrange, 

The  wisdom  he  dispensed  who  yet  was  wise,: — 
The  saying  from  his  lips  who  yet  must  be 
Interpreter  to  men  of  sovereign  Word !  .  .  . 
To  mint  my  all  into  a  shining  alms, 
Wherewith  to  gorge  the  mendicant  palm,  myself 
Thus  beggaring, — what  manner  of  mandate,  this  ? 
What  manner  of  life?   Treasure  in  heaven,  and 

yet 
What  life — here,  now?  .  .  .  Swifter  than  I  can 

tell, 

Alternatives  rehearsed  themselves  in  thought. 
Intrinsically  dross,  'twas  wealth  at  least 
Bulwarked  me  somewhat  'gainst  the  crude  im 
pact 

Of  nothingness.   Flocks,  herds,  and  acres  were 
The  surety  for  some  privacy  of  dream, 

[41] 


OUTBOUND 

And  walled-in  garden-plot  of  inward  beauty.  .  .  . 
Thus  I ! — and  him  af ace  with,  nerved  with  race- 
nerves, 

Along  which  flashed  world-agonies;  his  mind 
A  race-mind,  drinking  like  a  firmament 
The  light  of  stars;  a  racial  heart,  his  heart, 
Tropic  with  all  the  ecstasies  of  man !  .  .  . 
How  like  a  shallow  pool  of  muddiest  water, 
The  dwindling  life  of  self  beside  such  vast 
Of  oceanic  living !  Purblind  I, 
To  stand  not  seeing  in  that  hour  of  test 
The  contrast ! — swiftly  reasoning  instead 
After  this  wise:  Who  is  it  bids  me  thus 
By  surgery  of  utter  sacrifice 
Attain  to  life  ?  Is 't  verily  life  he  lives, 
Self-generative,  inwardly  renewing 
Itself  perpetually  in  power?   He  hath 
The  spirit  look,  oblivious  of  things, 
Of  one  who  yoke-mates  with  Eternity, — 
The  beatific  grace  of  brow,  and  yet 
By  very  reason  thereof,  too  aloof 
And  otherworldly  for  reality, 
Perchance  a  dreamer,  not  the  seer  of  vision. 
Man  should  not  be  talaria-shod,  and  tread 

[42] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

Tenuous  ether  like  a  star.   Remove 

From     'neath    one    the    foundation    props    of 

matter — 

Crash ! — ay,  inevitably,  soon  or  late  !  .  .  . 
— Slaying  the  potency  of  high  resolve 
By  indecision,  not  direct  refusal, 
I  stood  deliberate  thus  at  forking  ways. 
Despite  myself  I  turned  and  gazed  about 
Upon  his  followers.   Neither  staff  nor  scrip 
Had  they.   Beyond  a  doubt,  discipleship 
Meant   living  hand   to   mouth,   all   forethought 

waived — 

Pruned  sense  for  spirit  flowering.  .  .  .  Suddenly 
I  caught  as  'twere  a  leer  upon  the  face 
Of  one  wearing  a  purse,  that  from  his  belt 
Dangled,  responsive  to  a  clutching  hand 
Pendulum-wise.  .  .  .  Almost  I  gasped  for  breath, 
With  dread  stranglingly  seized.    My  heart,  till 

then 

Sensitive  like  a  balance,  hesitant 
What  dip  to  yield,  precipitately  plunged 
By  the  increment  of — was't  the  purse  accurst, 
Or  snaky  leer?  ...  A  speechless  moment's  pause, 
And  I  was  going  from  thence.  .  .  . 

[43] 


OUTBOUND 

VI 

The  water-cruse 

Again !  With  yet  a  pillow  prop  me.   So ! 
— Three   decades'   early  and  latter  rains  have 

brought 

Continuous  increase  to  that  fatal  wealth 
Whose  plenitude  hath  only  pauperized. 
Yet  not  a  lifetime's  tutoring  taught  me  this, 
Nor  Death's  immutable  "Overboard  with  it," 
Heard  like  a  captain's  orders  in  a  storm, 
Waxed  to  the  uttermost.   I  knew  before, 
'Twas  vanity — but  what  I  came  to  know, 
Listen !   A  scant  twelve-moon  elapsing  since 
The  event  I've  told  of,  in  Jerusalem 
I  sojourned,  fain  of  throngs,  because  too  much, 
Solitude  in  its  beauty  among  hills, 
The  muffled  pastoral  lowings  from  green  fields, 
Coerced  me  into  thought.   Could  but  the  self 
At  will  be  'scaped  from,  as  one  turns  to  the  wall 
The  picture  of  a  dead  insistent  face, 
I  had  been  happy.    As  it  was,  the  days 
And  nights  were  gall  and  wormwood  in  my  cup. 
The  self-same  poison-bath  of  history, 
The  reek  from  spent  religion's  oijless  wick, 
The  nation 's  frustrate  Messianic  hope !  .  .  . 

[44] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

Thus  inward  murk  enhanced,  which  books  pe 
rused 

But  deepened.   Men,  like  vermin  to  me  now, 
Perforce  I  sought,  as  one  in  dungeon  vault 
Diverts  himself  with  spiders  weaving  webs, 
Or  mice,  stolen  in,  which  thus  keep  madness  out. 
The  causeway  trod  became  my  opiate, 
The  mart,  my  anodyne  for  pain.    Abroad 
I  witnessed  deeds  of  violence  unmoved, 
Such  as  inflicted  on  his  countrymen 
Made  Moses  slay  the  Egyptian.    Populace 
And  foreign  soldiery  in  bloody  clash 
Daily,  nay,  hourly,  seemed  to  me  as  much 
Mechanics  as  the  promontoried  shore 
Charged  by  the  legionry  of  lunar  tides. 
Fierce  seethed  the  caldron  of  the  nation's  hate 
With  bubble  and  hiss,  and  desperately  the  ladle 
Of  Roman  power  kept  skimming  off  revolt. 
Yet  martial  law  imposed  upon  the  world, 
Mankind  explosively  at  boil  beneath, 
Seemed  nature  spectacle  to  me,  a  part 
Of  brute  irrationality,  writ  large 
In  elemental  hurly-burly,  force 
Wrestling  with  matter,  while  the  universe 
Looks  on,  indifferent  as  Caesar  crowned 
Which  triumph,  so  but  muscle  remain  taut. 

[45] 


OUTBOUND 

— What  wonder  that  in  stolidness,  one  day, 
I  stumbled  on  what  seemed  a  street-brawl,  part 
Of  current  turbulence  supposedly! 
Presently  in  the  midst  of  weltering  mob 
I  had  submerged  me  utterly.    A  dog 
Three-headed,  gentile  fables  tell  of,  guards 
The  gates  of  hell.   A  myriad-headed  wolf, 
Tongues  lolling  and  teeth  gnashing,  thus  kept 

watch 

Where  Pilate's  mansion  with  its  grim  facade 
O'ertowers  the  centra.1  thoroughfare.    The  glut 
Suddenly  merged  into  one  wolfish  throat 
With  "Crucify  him!"  its  reiterate  cry 
Of  frenzy.  .  .  .  Leech,  hast  swum  where  tidal 

seas 

Make  suction  among  scooped  out  reefs  till  brine 
Is  leonine  in  massed  ferocity? 
Such  did  I  feel  that  human  undertow 
Wherein  I  swam,  thus  gaining  luckily 
The  wall-projection  clutched  and  clung  to.  Mean 
time 

The  palace  door  had  oped,  through  which  emerged 
The  governor  into  view,  and — soldier-led, 
Who  if  not  he  ...  the  Galilean  prophet ! 
That  instant  made  me  human.  .  .  .  Though  afar, 
His  face  I  saw  above  the  folded  arms.  .  .  . 

[46] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

What   peace! — like   western   heavens    in   after 
glow  !  .  .  . 

Conspicuous  stood  Pilate  in  command. 
The  mob  perplexed  and  angered  him  as  told 
His  gestures,  menacing,  expostulating, 
To  get  the  hearing  vainly  sought  withal. 
Their  " Crucify  him!  Crucify  him!"  louder 
But  waxed  each  moment.   Presently  a  guard, 
Signed  to,  was  fetching  in  an  ewer  and  basin, 
And  lo,  Pontius  Pilate,  governor, 
Washing  his  hands !    That  symbol-speech  spake 

home. 

Such  frenzied  glee !   Yet  all  the  while  afar, 
He  of  the  folded  arms  'twixt  soldiers  twain 
Perturbless  in  his  peace !  .  .  .  I  followed  him 
A  few  hours  later  on  his  deathward  climb 
Up  the  hill,  Calvary,  and  there  saw  nailed 
His  quivering  form  to  a  rood,  and  raised  aloft. 
I  caught  from  him  a  recognizing  glance 
Sent  down  ere  the  last  swoon ;  nor  me  alone, 
His  eyes  remembered:  him  who  sundered  us, 
Him  of  the  purse  accurst  and  snaky  leer, 
Him,  his  betrayer,  as  'twas  whispered  me, 
They  turned  their  full  compassionate  gaze  upon, 
The  while  he  paused  in  the  way  beneath  his  cross. 

[47] 


OUTBOUND 

That  lingering  gaze  turned  backward  to  forgive 
Published  the  universe — God !  .  .  . 

VII 

Ay,  fan  my  brow! 

—It  is  a  time  makes  kingdoms  warp  and  crack, 
The  epoch  ages  visibly  for  death, 
Despair  hangs  vastly  brooding  o  'er  the  world. 
There's  not  a  tree  about  Jerusalem, 
But,  straining  to  the  requisite  height,  may  serve 
As  instrument  retributive  for  us 
Who  slew  the  Anointed  One.   I  see,  I  see, 
Judgment  impends — and  penalty  which  time, 
Elapsing,  makes  but  terrible  the  more ! 
Yet  outward  desolations,  what  are  they — 
The  scoriae  downpour,  earthquake  shock,  and  fire, 
Without,  compared  with  desert  drouth  within, 
From  whence  in  the  end  more  surely  a  Dead  Sea ! 
Strange,  strange  inscrutably,  that  in  our  hands 
Choice  and  rejection  thus  should  lie,  whereby, 
Saved  or  undone,  we  owe  it  to  ourselves !  .  .  . 
The  years  flow  on,  his  memory  remains, 
As  o'er  the  blue-grey  Jordan  ever  flowing, 
A  white  cloud  anchored  lies  immovably 
Reflected,  through  a  breathless  summer's  day. 

[48] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

Wherever  I  have  dwelt  and  sojourned,,  he, 
Too,  dwelt  and  sojourned,  I  beneath  his  eyes 
Escapeless!    In  long  watches  of  the  night, 
He  came  instead  of  sleep ;  by  day,  at  tasks, 
A  moment's  pause  for  rest,  and  lo, — his  face! 
Hence,  too,  the  ache  and  pathos  of  my  days, 
To  live  my  Great  Refusal  o'er  and  o'er 
In  thought  and  dream, — again,  and  yet  again, 
Him  to  reject  whom  fain  I  would  accept. 
Thus  in  one  deed 's  remembrance  is  the  stuff 
For  countless  dooms.   The  beaker  spilled  became 
A  brook,  a  river,  seas !  .  .  .  Strengthened  and 

cleansed 

Of  vision  by  austerities  lived  through, 
I  turn  my  gaze  from  watery  chaos  plunged 
Abyssward,  to  the  sheeted  mist  whereon 
Perpetual  rainbow.   What  if  it  should  prove, 
Defeat  to  him  was  Victory  indeed ! 
Searching,  searching,  as  one  with  hand  agrope 
In  darkness,  till  he  ope  a  door  and  stand 
Beneath  the  sky,  I  ask  and  win  response. 
Verily,  depth  discovers  itself  height, 
The  more  I  gaze !    Hence  his  prophetic  eyes 
Recognized  in  the  people's  enmities 
Unripened  worships;  hence  even  from  the  cross 
Saw  garnered  from  his  three-years'  ministry 

[49] 


OUTBOUND 

Millennial  corn;  therefore  he  cried  aloud, 
"It  is  finished !"  .  .  .  and  so  yielded  up  his  breath. 
The  Love  which  so  could  fellowship  with  men, 
Which  so  could  die — slowly  my  consciousness 
Hath  heaved  itself  through  dark  tempestuous 

doubt 
Toward  the  conviction :  it  is  He,  the  Christ !  .  .  . 

VIII 

My  speaking  emptied  me  of  strength,  and  yet 
In  spirit  I'm  the  stronger  that  I  spake, — 
Stronger  and  more  at  peace,  as  if  my  heart 
Had  been  assoiled  of  blemishment  somehow. 
There's    devious    traveling    betwixt    birth    and 

death, 

And  little  knows  the  traveler  whom  he  meets 
And  lets  go  by  ungreeted.    Presently 
I  knew!  .  .  .  Draw  me  the  curtain  to.   I'd  sleep. 


[50] 


JUDGMENT 


Judgment 

TODAY,  one  fateful  moment,   Soul 
Made  craven  compromise  with  Sense : 

I  shudder,  journeying  toward  the  goal 
Of  Crisis,  days  or  ages  hence. 


[51] 


OUTBOUND 


Good  Friday 

THE  spirit's  natural  aliment  and  cup 
Upon  a  day  like  this  is  solitude : 
Withdrawn  afar  the  heart  partakes  of  food, 
And  entered  into  quietness  doth  sup. 
Spent  winds,  and  dews  distilling  drop  by  drop, 
And  shades  in  wake  of  lapsed  sun  and  moon, 
The  mind  to  that  world-agony  attune, 
And  cry  wherewith  His  breath  He  rendered  up. 
Thus  ponder  I  that  Tragedy  Divine, 
That  scenery  abyssed  in  gloom  and  dole — 
Gone  forth  beneath  the  awesome  stars  abroad; 
Thus  ask  I,  being  of  thy  ninety  and  nine: 
Great  Universe,  who  shepherd  art  of  Soul, 
What  didst  thou  with  the  One — the  Lamb  of 
God?  . 


[52] 


SABBATH 


Sabbath 

I  KNOW  it  by  the  twilight  hush, 

The  trance  that  follows  evening's  flush; 

By  hill  and  dell  that  leaf-bestrewn 

Slumber  beneath  the  autumn  moon. 

From  breathless  heavens,  the  cloud-filmed  night 

Silvers  it  forth  in  pensive  light; 

And  every  star  the  message  brings: 

There's  Sabbath  at  the  heart  of  things. 

I  know  it  by  the  storms  that  die 
In  the  large  quietude  of  sky ; 
By  stillness  of  oncoming  dawn ; 
By  silences  of  years  withdrawn. 
Yea,  if  I  read  the  blue  aright, 
The  meaning  of  its  starry  night, 
And  catch  the  song  Creation  sings, 
There's  Sabbath  at  the  heart  of  things! 


[53] 


OUTBOUND 


Vita  Brevis 

IP  OUR  scrimp  life,  methought,  might  lengthen 

out 

To  parallel  Methuselah's  in  years, 
Or  even  were  such  in  age  as  made  us  peers 
Of  patriarchs,  unhaste  were  well,  no  doubt.  .  .  . 
Fool !  seeing  we  pass  our  predetermined  route 
In  fourscore  revolutions  of  the  spheres 
At  utmost,  all  the  more  forswear  with  fears 
Precocious  deed,  struggle,  and  strain,  and  shout. 
The  soul  herein  should  tutored  be  by  field 
And  prairie :  these  in  flush  of  ardent  May 
Conserve  the  Sabbath  mood  in  joy 's  despite ; 
And,  knowing  how  brief  the  months  ere  they 

must  yield, 

Sink  into  vast  serenity  by  day, 
And  quietude  of  pulseless  dream  by  night.  .  .  . 


[54] 


AT  SCHOOL 


At  School 


A  TEACHER  once  had  pupil  followers, 
A  motley  number.   His  most  gifted  ones 
He  placed  within  a  garden  rich  with  flowers, 
To  cultivate  and  keep  it,  bidding  them 
Not  fail  to  bring  the  fairest  blooms  to  Him. 
Hemmed  in  with  bee-loud  hedges  they  abode 
Awhile  in  gladness,  and  such  perfumes  breathed 
As  match  in  lure  the  music  of  blent  lyres, 
And,  passing,  leave  behind  a  wake  of  dreams. 
But  feasting  thus  their  sense  in  the  delight 
Of  blowing  wonders,  whereon  humming  birds, 
Darting,  became  a  trance  of  wings,  and  moths 
Made  sojourn  at  first  twilight,  they  forgot 
The  Master, — sheer  forgot;  and,  staled  in  soul, 
Warped  cunning  to  extract  flower  essences, 
Distilling,  flasking  attar  for  its  own  sake. 

II 

To  others  of  the  pupil  throng  He  oped 
His  library,  a  central  garner  fed 

[55] 


OUTBOUND 

By  conflux  from  all  granaries  of  mind, — 
A  land  that  flowed  with  milk  and  honey  of  books ; 
Bade  ponder  wisdom  there  that  so  in  the  end 
At  His  feet,  as  an  offering,  they  might  lay 
The  fruits  of  ripe  reflection.   Thus  a  space 
Mindful  of  such,  high  ultimate  purpose  fixed, 
They  searched  the  teeming  tomes,  with  mind  and 

heart 

One  throbbing  mutual  ardor ;  but  in  time, 
Their  entrance  vows  forgot,  they  waned  in  zest, 
With  lore  too  sated ;  and  at  length  became 
Like  holiday  children,  who,  all  tired  of  sea, 
Upon  a  beach  the  patient  ages  wrought 
With  coral,  pry  out  fossil  curios, — 
Shells,  irised  by  the  tide,  to  prink  themselves 
For  mirrors:  thus  fastidiously  they  culled 
From  curious  bric-a-brac  washed  up  by  books, 
Nor  knew  that  so  were  bartered  realms  for  beads, 
And  dawdled  hours  away  to  no  avail. 

Ill 

Still  others  the  good  Master  singled  out 
For  the  office  of  dispensing  in  His  house 
Its  generous  hospitalities ;  to  receive 
And  feast  His  guests,  and — specially  enjoined 
By  mandate — to  bring  all  at  last  to  Him. 
Made  temporary   lords   and   mistresses 

[56] 


AT  SCHOOL 

Of  frescoed  halls,  hung  round  with  chandeliers, 
That  radiantly  lamped  the  festal  glee, 
They,  too, — and  sooner  than  all  else — forgot 
Their  charge,  and  waxing  flabby  in  soul  thought 

only 

To  supplement  already  costliest  wines 
With  rare  inmelted  pearls;  to  smother  brows 
Beneath  more  opiate  garlands, — day  and  night, 
Lolling  at  feasts,  with  gossip,  posture,  smirk, 
And  all  the  shrunk  inanities  of  Mode. 

IV 

What  pupils  yet  remained,  a  company 
Most  numerous,  this  Master  with  designs 
Unguessed,  assigned  to  every  service  drear 
And  toilsome:  these,  doorkeepers  to  admit 
Others  to  festive  halls,  themselves  compelled 
To  endure  without  the  sleety  tempest;  those, 
Like  sumpter-beasts,  bred  for  such  end,  to  bear 
Burdens  the  long  day  through.    And  lo!   the 

thralls, 

Though  not  suspecting  salt  earth-drunken  tears 
And  sweat  preserve  the  land,  else  putrid,  sweet 
And  wholesome,  yet  swerved  not  from  loyalty 
To  the  seeming  Author  of  their  fate :  nay  more, 
Urged  thereto  by  their  tasks'  repulsiveness, 

[57] 


OUTBOUND 

But  thought  with  greater  longing,  passionate  love, 
Of  Him  they  served ;  nor  grudged  to  build  their 

throes 

Into  protecting  walls  for  the  favored  few 
In  garden,  or  who  meditated  books 
To  fruitful  ends  for  the  Master, — even  for  them, 
The  revelling  overseers  of  His  house. 

V 

If  the  Master,  some  eventual  Day,  had  scanned 
Records  .  .  .  each  several  one  and  class  by  class, 
Or  ere  Vacation, — the  long  school-year  o'er, 
Verily,  how  had  first  been  last!  last,  first! 


[58] 


ELECTRIC   PEAK 


Electric  Peak 

THERE  towers  aloft  a  mountain  height  somewhere, 
So  pregnant  with  rich  ore  within,  they  say, 
No  trustiest  instrument  can  make  survey 
Of  bosky  lands,  its  mighty  slopes  upbear. 
Betimes  above  its  brow  in  summer  air 
There's  revelry  of  lightning.    Such  to-day, 
Existence:  much  of  thunder-storm  display, 
But  of  what  use  is  the  soul's  transit  there? 

Only  withdrawn  from  the  Electric  Peak, 
The  vibrant  intuitions  become  true ; 
Only  when  for  this  hot  desire  to  do, 
To  be  is  made  the  goal  toward  which  we  seek, 
The  thing  we  would  we  know ;  the  word  we  speak 
Which  is  ourselves ;  nor  frustrate  need  we  strew 
One  seed  not  yielding  its  fulfilment  due, 
If  still  earth's  heritage  is  of  the  meek. 


[59] 


OUTBOUND 


Love's  Epiphany 

As  WHEN  the  moody  Western  Sky  hath  flung 
A  withered  sunset  rose-like  from  her  hand, 
Bleak,  mist-enwrapped,  lie  mountain,  vale,  and 

strand, 

With  stilly  brooding  twilight  overhung; 
Till  suddenly  from  clouds,  wind-rifted,  sprung, 
The  moon  as  if  with  touch  of  magic  wand 
Thrills  into  silvery  whiteness  sea  and  land, 
And  snowy  glides  the  new-blown  stars  among — 
So,  after  flaming  youth  had  passed,  I  knew 
The  wistfulness  of  pensive  twilight  hour, 
When  lo !  a  moon-pure  Spirit  rose  to  view, 
And  touched  me  with  its  all-creative  power : 
And  'neath  its  flooding  radiance  I  grew 
Whiter  than  earth  or  sea — by  night,  in  flower. 


[60] 


SONG 


Song 

PEOPDE  my  sleep  to-night 
With  dreams  of  thee! 
Lonely  hath  been  the  day, 
Deprived  thy  sight; 
Lonely  the  night  will  be, 
Thou  still  away ! 

Forlorn  in  the  noon  throng,- 

Thou  wast  not  there! 

In  solitude  forlorn, 

At  even-song! 

Oh,  to  behold  thee  ere 

Again  the  morn ! 

Again  the  morn,  and  thou 
Being  not  its  light, 
More  dark  the  dawn  will  be 
Than  darkness  now! 
People  my  sleep  to-night 
With  dreams  of  thee! 


[61] 


OUTBOUND 


Interim 

Oft  waiting  to  put  by  my  sumpter's  load, 
But  Sleep,  the  sweet  deliverer,  hours  away, 
Spent  have  I  sat,  'mid  shadowy  thoughts  that  lay 
Like  evening  on  hushed  waters.    Overflowed 
With  moonlight  soon  the  shores  of  revery  glowed, 
Where  seeking  covert  I  was  fain  to  stay, — 
Escaped,  a  thrall,  unmanumitting  Day, 
Escaped,  a  drudge,  Hours  of  the  yoke  and  goad. 
Anear  the  plashy  marge,  that  interim, 
Dream  deepened  into  trance;  to  sit  and  hark 
Was  peace  that  even  slumber  knows  not  of: 
The  while  ebbed  sea  again  became  abrim, 
Erasing  stars  from  canvas  of  the  dark, 
I  limned  the  wondrous  face  of  her  I  love. 


[62] 


TEYST 


Tryst 

As  when  a  yester  June  comes  back  in  dream 
To  one  in  bleak  midwinter,  and  reclad 
With  all  the  vernal  loveliness  they  had, 
Forest  and  plain  no  longer  naked  seem 
Beneath   the  snows  that  swirl,   the  rains  that 

stream ; 

Earth  and  the  sky  throbbing  as  in  the  mad 
Ardor  of  vanished  prime  again  are  glad; 
And  glad  is  he  for  whom  with  life  they  teem ; — 
As  one  thus  dreaming  in  a  season  drear 
Rehearses  Summer,  until  inwardly 
Thrilled  with  her  very  presence  as  with  wine, — 
Thrilled  with  her,  palpable  to  eye  and  ear, 
And  yet  all  spirit — such,  to-night,  with  thee 
Hath  been  my  tryst  of  dream,  woman  divine ! 


[63] 


OUTBOUND 


"As  Weds  the  Skimming  Dove" 

As  WEDS  the  skimming  dove 

Some  little  wave  of  blue, 
My  winged  heart  would  wed  thee,  Love, 

And  be  ensilvered  too. 

As  dawn  empearls  the  wing 
Of  lark  that  sings  its  bliss, 

My  heart,  that  soars  with  caroling, 
Would  twinkle  with  thy  kiss. 

As  sunset  all  the  West 

O'erflows  in  its  decline, 
0  Love,  this  heart  would  be  at  rest, 

And  blend  its  life  with  thine! 


[64] 


ASPIRATION 


Aspiration 

A  LITTLE  drop  of  water  lay 
And  yearned  for  purity  one  day. 

But  one  desire  its  longing  knew: 
To  be  transfigured  into  dew ; 

To  leave  the  gutter  and  the  mart, 
And  twinkle  in  a  blossom's  heart.  .  . 

Ere  long  the  wind  came  dancing  up, 
And  bore  aloft  the  dreaming  drop; 

And  out  of  vernal  sky  of  blue 
The  sunbeams  lent  it  pinions,  too. 

At  last  as  dew  it  found  repose 
Within  the  bosom  of  a  rose.  .  .  . 

The  soul  would  be  immaculate : 
Creator,  what  will  be  its  fate? 


[65] 


OUTBOUND 


Plighted 

AND  knowest  thou  why  I  have  refrained 
So  long  from  suing  for  thy  lips? 

Why  wan  and  cold  I  have  remained 
'Neath  self-imposed  eclipse? 

It  was  not  fear  to  breathe  the  word, 
Might  bring  the  skyey  glory — thee; 

Nor  happiness  a  while  deferred, 
That  bliss  the  more  might  be; 

But  I  was  thrilled  with  the  intent 
To  be  as  realms  of  azure  are, 

Before  I  asked  the  firmament 
To  spare  its  loveliest  star. 

I  purposed  from  the  surge  and  swell 
Perfection's  iris  first  to  win: 

And  I — uniridescent  shell, 
Enclose  the  pearl  within !  .  .  . 

Yet  felt  I  not  that  being  shod 
With  fiery  longings  for  the  Goal 

[66] 


PLIGHTED 

Must  mean  ascent  from,  depths  of  clod 
To  pinnacles  of  soul ; 

And  did  not  ages  past  affirm 

That  upward  trend  all  living  things; 

Were  very  writhings  of  the  worm 
Not  prayer  to  God  for  wings — 

This  moment  even  I  had  not  durst, 
Though  drunken  with  thy  beauty's  wine, 

Thrust  years  or  aeons  by  and  burst 
To  merge  thy  life  with  mine. 


[67] 


OUTBOUND 


"As  Grows  An  Isle" 

As  GROWS  an  isle  with  corals  numberless 
Until  it  clasps  the  quiet  pure  lagoon, 
Whose  utter  depths,  too  deep  to  sound,  lie  strewn 
With  ocean 's  wealth  of  irised  loveliness ; 
And  hastes  in  tropic  flowers  and  vine  to  dress 
Its  naked  clay ;  and  waves  with  forest  soon 
Of  palmy  screen  against  the  burning  noon : 
A  paradise  of  bliss  and  beauteousness — 
So  round  thy  fair  pellucid  life  I  grow, 
With  all  its  wealth  of  thought  and  dream  beneath. 
Within  me  there's  a  quickening  and  glow; 
And  some  day  I  shall  clasp  thee  with  a  wreath 
Of   consummated   manhood — unwithstood, 
Since  worthy  thy  consummate  womanhood. 


[68] 


HOLY  MATRIMONY 


Holy  Matrimony 

IT  is  not  being  wed, 
Albeit  pact  be  sealed  by  priest 
Before  glad  kin  who  come  with  gifts 
From  near  and  far  and  sit  at  feast. 

Who  pass  from  altars  forth 

As  twain  abide  till  soon  or  late, 

When  lanced  with  grief  or  stung  with  shame, 

Their  hearts  grow  one,  co-sharing  fate; 

And  other  twain  at  length, 
Whatever  payment  made,  Time's  toll, 
Awake,  knowing  their  marriage  morn, 
Because  they  love  as  Soul  and  Soul. 


[69] 


OUTBOUND 


The  Brook 

(To  F.  G.  H.) 

A  BROOK  I  know  whereof  I  dream 

A  princess  wild  is  she, 
To  wax  into  a  queenly  stream, 

And  wed  the  royal  sea, 

She  dances  from  her  mountain  home 

Into  the  morning  sun ; 
Dallies  with  rainbows — dashes  foam 

Upon  their  hopes  anon. 

Where  barrier  her  laughter  stems, 

Tree-bole  or  rocky  cleft, 
From  her  pure  breast  she  plucks  the  gems, 

And  strews  them  right  and  left. 

The  grass  flings  down  an  emerald  cloak 

Before  her  dainty  tread; 
A  fern  would  willingly  be  oak 

To  canopy  her  head. 

[70] 


THE  BROOK 

She  gives  her  ringlets  many  a  toss, 
She  knows  the  realm's  her  own, 

Yet  shares  her  prineessdom  with  moss, 
And  diadems  a  stone. 

Singing,  singing,  the  livelong  day, 

Pelting  a  vale  with  glee! 
Her  whereabout? — Ah,  I'll  not  say, 

Nor  who  this  Brook  can  be ! 


71] 


OUTBOUND 


My   Daughter 

THEEE  was  such  glee  in  that  frail  envelope 

Of  body  which  is  she,  that  I  scarce  knew 

From  moment  to  laughing  moment  what  was 

due 

Of  fate  that  might  befall  her.    Such  a  scope 
Of  ecstasy,  such  zest  in  things,  and  hope ! 
Such  footing  brinks  in  every  breath  she  drew, 
And  sheer  escapes!   Fresh  as  in  heights  of  blue 
Wildgoat  among  the  crags  or  antelope, 
Her  spirit !  .  .  .  Years  have  sped,  yet  unsubdued, 
Splendidly  madcap,  live  to  finger-tips, 
Woman  as  girl !  Not  now  rash  clambering  up 
Of  steep,  or  plunging  headlong  into  flood, 
And  yet — adventure :  holding  to  her  lips 
Immediacy  like  a  brimming  cup. 


[72] 


TO  FATHER  AT  EIGHTY 


To  Father  at  Eighty 

ONCE,  leaving  to  sail 
Far  over  sea  abroad,  , 

I  lingered  on  a  knoll  and  let 
A  last  returning  glance 
Give  me  back  home  and  kin, 
Give  me  back  thee,  standing  there  in  the  sun 
set  ... 

Ere  the  dip  of  highway,  flood, 
And  unknown  lands. 

Now,  voyage  ahead, 

'Tis  thou  lingering  dost  stand, 

Letting  the  backward  glance 

Gather  up  kindred,  home, 

Wafted  farewells,  thy  eighty  years  of  life  .  .  . 

At  gaze  alone, 

In  beautiful  quiet  sundown, 

Boun  for  the  great  Sea! 


[73] 


OUTBOUND 


Ad  Matrem 

IN  A  dream  last  night  I  stood — 
Mother  mine !  Mother  mine ! — 
Thy  lone  grave  without,  a  key 
In  my  hand,  wherewith  I  would 
Unlock  the  turf  that  led  to  thee — 
Mother  mine !  .  .  . 

But  no  doorway  found  I  there, — 
Mother  mine !  Mother  mine ! — 
Threshold  none,  though  once  'twas  trod, 
Neither  entrance  anywhere, 
Save  bolted  by  three-decade  sod — 
Mother  mine!  .  .  . 

Then  I  vowed  myself  awake, — 
Mother  mine !  Mother  mine ! — 
Only  to  renew  my  vow: 
I  will  yet  behold  thee, — slake 
My  thirst  for  thee  in  Vision,  thou 
Mother -mine!  . 


[74] 


CONDOLENCE 


Condolence 

COMMUNION  with  thy  Loved  One  gone  before, 
In  revery  by  day,  in  dream  by  night, 
Sustain  thee,  lest  thou  faint  or  perish  quite. 
The  isle  that  hath  been  visited  too  sore 
With  earthquake,  healing  Time  cannot  restore: 
Yet  seek  what  shelter  may  be.   Touch  and  sight 
Failing  us,  would  with  subtler  sense  we  might 
Foresee  the  Dawn  of  soul  with  soul  once  more ! 
All  lorn  shalt  thou  not  dwell,  so  visioned:  he, 
Who,  Sidney-like,  was  gentle,  brings  a  cup 
To  quicken  thee  athirst;  and  in  thy  stead 
Will  bear  the  widowed  burden  tenderly; 
Will  enter  in  at  dusk  and  with  thee  sup : 
We  live  environed  by  our  noble  dead. 


[75] 


OUTBOUND 


Acknowledgment 

You  among  hills  whereunto  the  sea's  marge  is, 
I  at  the  heart  of  inland  snowy  plain : 

Ah,   how  more  myriad  than   the  snow  Love's 

largess ! 
Splendider  than  your  main ! 


[76] 


CALAMUS 


Calamus 

WHEN  Phidias  his  Zeus  had  wrought  complete 

To  front  the  Greek  Olympiads  with  law, 

In  godhead  such  as  the  blind  singer  saw 

Give  pledge  to  Thetis  of  the  silver  feet, 

A  name  he  chiseled  where  no  eye  would  meet, 

Somewhere  upon  a  finger  of  the  god, — 

Of  locks  ambrosial  and  the  thunderous  Nod 

Thus  meekly  making  dedication  sweet. 

If  songs — even  these  wherein  so  much  amiss, 

Something  of  old  achievement  had  to  boast, 

Soaring  where  step  by  step  they  now  ascend, 

What  gain  withal  other  than  art's  in  this? 

For  still  but  utterleast  were  uttermost 

That  friend  would  fain  make  dedicate  to  Friend. 


[77] 


OUTBOUND 


To  A.  W.  G. 

What  inspiration  flowered  at  prime 

In  melody,  I  owe  it  her : 
She  searched  the  calyx  of  each  rhyme, 

And  sipped — if  any  sweets  there  were. 

Though  now  in  sundered  spheres  we  ply 
The  tasks  that  unto  each  belong, 

She's  still  the  ruby-throat  .  .  .  whom  I 
Saw  poised  above  my  firstling  song. 


[78] 


EXODUS 


Exodus 

My  mind  this  morn  was  a  hive  in  spring, 
Yet,  in  spite  of  my  utmost  heed, 

The  gypsy  swarm  stole  away  on  the  wing, 
With  a  queen-bee  thought  in  the  lead ; 

Buzzed  away  in  the  morning  beams 
To  wassails  of  fresh  honey  brew: 

Ah,  me,  how  hard  to  domesticate  dreams! 
How  madder  than  mad  to  pursue ! 


[79] 


OUTBOUND 


Coincidence 

ON  RIVER  marge  I  strolled. 

Midstream  in  patient  rings  a  hawk  patrolled, 

Then— bolt-like  fell: 

Gleamed  'neath  it,  rising,  the  clutched  pickerel. 

That  instant,  too,  mid-thought 

Plunged    and   emerged    again   with   prey   long 

sought 

A  taloned  bird: 
My  sonnet,  holding  in  fierce  clutch — a  word. 


[80] 


RECOGNITION 


Recognition 

"My  SONGS  are  sung,"  I  said. 

"Songless  because  unwed 

To  Beauty,  I  must  linger  out  my  days. 

The  Vision  me  hath  jilted; 

With  spirit  parched  and  wilted, 

Already  I  am  autumn  browns  and  grays. 

Suffice  youth's  preludings: 

Henceforward — silent  strings ! 

And  better  so,  ay,  haply  better  so ! 

One  pang  the  less  thereby  shall  manhood  know. 

For  who  saw  yet  out  of  his  soul 's  emprise 

Plenal  fulfilment  rise? 

When  greatly  the  heart  purposeth, 

Lo— death!"  .  .  . 

So  I,  touching  my  lot, 

And  from  four  walls  betook  myself  abroad.  .  .  . 

"Dear  God! 

And  is  it  June  ?  I  had  forgot — forgot ! 

Lush  leafage,  glint  of  wings ; 

Nesting  aloft  in  branch,  and  throat  that  sings ; 

[81] 


OUTBOUND 

The  same  passionate  robin  ecstasy 

From  tripped-o'er  lawn,  out  of  the  crown  of  tree, 

As  in  the  yester  springs 

Linked  bliss  to  bliss,  and  mated  my  child's  glee. 

Why  the  World's  beautiful:  her  brow  was  old 

And  wrinkled,  only  mirrored  in  a  book. 

Seen  face  to  face,  behold 

How  virginal  and  fresh 

And  sweet  of  flesh, — 

Perennially  young,  and  singing  like  a  brook!" 

Thus  strolled  I,  spirit-cheered, 

A  way  oft  frequented  because  apart 

From  the  many's  tread,  and  noises 

Of  raucous-throated  mart, 

Yet  double-fringed  with  dwellings,  Thrift  had 

reared. 

And  little  children's  voices 
Made  laughter  in  my  heart,  • — 
Involuntary  laughter,  like  the  jet 
Of  rainbow  out  of  murky  mist  and  wet. 
Each  tendril  of  upcurling  smoke, 
Which  the  hearth  within  bespoke, 
Each  dooryard  which  a  lilac  bush  made  green, 
Each  window  curtained  clean, 
Flung  me  an  alms  of  gladness  as  I  passed 

[82] 


RECOGNITION 

With  eyes  that  craved  their  dole. 
"If,"  said  I,  in  that  moment's  cheer  of  soul, 
"With  the  simple  come  and  go  of  days  content, 
I  so  could  live,  letting  their  good  and  ill 
Alternate  as  they  will ; 

Not  poisoning  sunshine,  asking  if  'twill  last; 
To  blinding  sleet  and  rain  indifferent, 
So  but  some  hours  be  bright, 
Mine  would  be  peace  at  least  if  not  delight. 
Put  to  no  desperate  shifts 
To  compass  aims  beyond  the  scope  of  gifts, 
Yet  out  of  such  so  lowly  life  might  I 
Climb  a  little  nearer,  haply,  to  the  sky, — 
By  a  trail  of  human  interests  led  up, 
Windingly  higher  and  higher,  the  mountain  top. 
Ay,  even  for  very  lack  of  stature,  be 
Called  to  up  sycamore  tree 
By   One  that  in  my  house  this   night   would 
sup!"  .  .  . 

Thus  quickened,  passed  I  far 

Out  into  a  wide  amplitude  of  plain, — 

Of  the  healing  sunset  fain, 

Of  vesper  quiet,  new  moon,  and  first  star. 

And  her  I  love  saw  I  with  inner  eye — 

Lovelier  than  the  sky; 

[83] 


OUTBOUND 

And  spake  faltering:  "Truly  it  is  thou, 
Known  by  the  token  of  thy  touch, 
By  the  whiteness  of  thy  brow : 
Sundown  was  oft  our  tryst, — still  be  it  such. 
I  came,  'tis  true,  from  other  fount  to  drink, 
But  here  upon  the  brink 
Of  thee  let  my  soul's  cup  be  filled  instead 
With  living  water — thee :  I  am  athirst ; 
I  am  anhungered  for  thee  as  for  bread. 
Brood  o  'er  me  as  the  spirit  dove  o  'er  chaos : 
Thou  knowest  what  inner  terrors  oft  affray  us 
Who  are  devotees  of  the  fierce  godhead,  Song, 
By  pact  which  we  could  break  not,  if  we  durst. 
'Twas  therefore  that  erstwhile  in  bitter  doubt 
I  did  thee  wrong, 

Thinking  that  me,  thine  own,  could  Beauty  flout, 
That  me,  thine  own  still,  henceforth  she  hath  left 
To  pine  away  in  darkness,  song-bereft: 
And  yet  beside  me  now 

Art    thou    not    here,    is    she    not    here,    being 
thou?"  .  .  . 

Back  from  my  stroll,  within  four  walls  I  sat. 
The  wick  becoming  weaned  of  oil, 
I  shook  the  lamp  to  illume  again  my  toil. 
Anon  the  hearkened  clock-  with  twelvefold  stroke 

[84] 


RECOGNITION 

Made  yesterday  of  the  erewhile  study  hours, 
Made  yesterday  of  the  lamp 's  ebbing  out, 
Yet  grieved  I  not  thereat. 
Despite  the  darkness,  was  not  June  without? 
And  the  little  cot-hemmed  street,  with  sleeping 

folk, 

Replenishing  its  powers 
For  tomorrow's  unhived  goings  to  and  fro? 
And  out  in  the  far  plain  .  .  .  nay,  nay,  not  so, 
But  Presence  here  and  Spouse,  by  night,  by  day, 
Beauty,  with  me  alway ! 


85] 


OUTBOUND 


Founders'  Day 

FASTIDIOUS  what  dead  her  Minster  floor 
Shall  cover,  England's  ancient  Abbey  stands, 
A  sweet  memorial  from  days  of  yore, 
Sought  out  by  feet  of  pilgrims  from  all  lands. 
Whoever  heeds  her  vesper  chimes  and  steals 
Into  the  hallowed  precinct,  though  his  heart 
An  alien  be  to  prayer 

And  praise,  a  subtle  sense  of  worship  feels; 
And  lingers,  dreamy-eyed,  Where  sculptor's  art 
Records  what  master  minds  have  anchored  there. 

Must  that  sweet  spirit  be  to  us  unknown, 

Or  must  we  seek  it  wandering  oversea, 

In  storied  haunts  with  ivy  overgrown, 

Or  where  long  ages  past  have  strewn  debris? 

Is  there  no  such  ambrosia  for  the  soul, 

Unless  within  dim  choir  and  transept  aisle 

A  thousand  years  and  more 

Echo  the  anthems  that  the  living  roll? 

No  spell  of  dream,  unless  in  cloistered  pile 

We  meditate  the  fames  whose  reign  is  o'er?  .  .  . 

[86] 


FOUNDERS'  DAY 

There  once  befell  a  strife  among  the  Twelve 
0  'er  who  was  first  in  heavenly  rank  and  power ; 
And  He  Who  deepest  in  the  soul  could  delve, 
Who    glimpsed    in    mustard-seed    and    wilding 

flower 

A  parable  of  truth  else  undivined, 
Into  their  midst  called  forth  a  little  child, 
And  spake :  ' '  Lo,  chiefest,  he, 
In  whom  its  lowliness  of  heart  and  mind!": — 
By  outward  semblances  of  things  beguiled, 
Our  eyes  are  holden  that  we  may  not  see. 

Our  yesterdays  may  be  too  brief  a  space 

For  ripening  such  charms  as  heart  would  feel; 

For  giving  sweet  romance  its  subtlest  grace 

And  potency  of  exquisite  appeal; 

Yet  who  survey  these  human  acres,  ploughed 

And  seeded  with  ancestral  pain,  nor  draw 

Some  lesson  from  the  sight, — 

Some  new  reminder  whereby  to  be  vowed 

To  worthier  ends  beneath  a  higher  Law, 

Do  not  commemorate  the  past  aright. 

We  meet  to-day  that  from  what  was,  what  is 
And  will  be  take  increase  of  nobleness ; 
But  for  such  festal  moments  we  should  miss 

[87] 


OUTBOUND 

Something  of  prescience :  in  the  strain  and  stress, 
'Mid  all  the  seeming  nothings  of  our  days, 
Who  would  not  sink  unnerved  and  all  but  spent, 
Must  tutor  himself  brave, 
Pondering  by  what  strange  and  devious  ways 
The  jester  years  pressed  on  and  made  ascent, 
With  deeds  not  all  convergent  to  the  grave. 

When  still  the  New- World  continent,  rich-soiled 

And  teeming,  lay  like  jungle  in  a  trance; 

When  arrow-fanged,  its  every  thicket  coiled 

And  hissed  with  interdict  against  advance 

Of  the  explorer  or  stern  pioneer, 

Did  they  who  thrid  the  trail  or  built  the  hut 

Surmise  the  future  State? 

In  the  more  lofty  structures  that  we  rear, 

Wherever  toiling  onward,  are  we  not 

As  ignorant  of  the  purposes  of  fate  ? 

Nor  less  the  heroic  discipline  whereby 

Our  wills  are  being  schooled:   the  strain  and 

strife 

Of  adolescent  cities,  whence  the  cry 
Continuous  of  congested  human  life; 
The  duel  to  the  death  'twixt  poor  and  rich ; 
The  raucous  chorus  of  an  age  of  steam; 
The  industrial  thirst  for  gold— 

[88] 


FOUNDERS'  DAY 

Are  these  not  savagery  indeed,  to  which 
Primeval  pioneering  tame  doth  seem, 
In  sylvan  wildernesses,  trod  of  old? 

Nor  boots  it  that  our  minds  we  saturate 

And  flood  with  lore,  undreamed  of  anciently, 

If  so  Truth  perish  that  our  sires  made  great; 

To  us,  the  lords  of  matter,  if  it  be 

An  outworn  or  too  nebulous  a  creed 

That  things  have  worth  as  handmaids  of  the  soul, 

Or  else  are  wholly  vain, 

What  profiteth  our  lordship  us  indeed  ? 

What  deeper  insight,  ours,  to  hint  the  Goal, 

Whereto,  sore  tried,  the  spirit  would  attain? 

It  gropes  to-day  as  it  groped  yesterday, 

Our  darkling  Whence  no  better  understood, 

Our  darkling  Whither  without  beacon  ray 

To  guide  toward  highest  end  and  ultimate  good. 

In  this  atomic  grist  now  being  ground, 

Our  husks  of  theory  and  unwinnowed  fact, 

Is  there  potential  Bread?  .  .  . 

Perchance! — Yet    where    already    truth    seems 

found, 

How  much  the  sober  morrow  must  retract ! 
And  wherewith  now  is  spirit  to  be  fed? 

[89] 


OUTBOUND 

—Like  pleadings  of  soft  intermittent  bells, 
In  Sabbath  stillness  to  come  forth  and  be 
Of  them  that  worship,  unto  one  who  dwells 
Withdrawn  into  the  self,  where  wistfully 
He  broods  in  silence — such  mild  summonings 
Urge  back  the  song  into  a  gladder  strain 
Of  hope  and  festive  cheer; 
To-day  of  all  days,  whosoever  sings, 
Let  him  sing  thankfulness  that  once  again 
To  honor  Alma  Mater  we  are  here. 

If  darkness  fall,  the  more  resplendent,  She! 
If  Mammon  rise,  her  lips  must  teach  the  more 
That  not  in  things  possessed  is  majesty; 
If  knowledge  fail  us,  let  her  going  before 
Track  out  new  paths  of  truth,  our  feet  may  tread ; 
If  doubt  confuse,  the  accents  of  her  voice 
Still  shepherd  us  aright; 
If  strenuous  for  high  ends,  though  ill  bested, 
Let  there  be  recompense  in  knowing  our  choice 
Was  such  as  to  be  pleasing  in  her  sight. 

Her  elder  children  born,  the  vanguard  throng 
Of  thronging  generations  yet  to  come, 
We  sing  a  crescent  glory:  they  in  song 
Will  hail  it  at  the  full  when  we  are  dumb. 

[90] 


FOUNDERS'  DAY 

From  loftier  heights  of  blue,  less  cloud-obscured, 
The  richer  splendor  of  that  beauty's  dower 
Their  gladder  eyes  will  greet; 
And  yet  the  light  that  through  these  years  en 
dured, 

We  feel  in  this  commemorative  hour 
Hath  been  even  as  a  lamp  unto  our  feet. 

Ensanguined  lest  young  Freedom's  light  should 

wane, 

Old  battle-fields  are  sacred ;  every  shrine 
That  treasures  their  memorials  of  pain 
Is  therefore  doubly  hallowed  and  divine. 
If  there  are  shoes  'tis  fitting  we  unbind, 
Be  it  no  less  where  man  his  bread  has  cast 
On  waters  of  no  fame ; 
Or  wheresoever  mind,  enkindling  mind, 
into  the  Future  from  its  flickering  Past 
Sped  forth  a  new  relay  of  missive  flame. 

Not  overawed  by  fluctuating  Time, 

The  dauntless  Spirit  somehow  triumphs  on, 

Building  new  pinnacles  and  more  sublime, 

For  crumbled  shrines  from  centuries  agone. 

For  every  generation  blotted  out, 

With  what  wild  fervor  of  impetuous  breath 

[91] 


OUTBOUND 

Another  doth  appear! 

That  mightily  each  advent  means,  who  '11  doubt  ? 

Nor  but  to  cater  revelry  for  Death, 

The  nine-moon  clusters  ripen,  year  by  year. 

Such  paeans  from  ambiguous  oracles 

May  still  be  wrung  as  in  the  olden  days : 

Be  ours  the  old-time  spirit  that  compels 

Destiny ;  and  be  this  alone  our  praise 

And  guerdon,  to  have  faltered  not  nor  swerved 

In  crises  of  the  tragic  racial  strife 

And  struggle  to  ascend ! 

Be  what  they  may,  the  aims  by  Time  subserved, 

So  the  Eumenides  of  human  life 

But  choral  benediction  o  'er  its  end ! 


[92] 


'MOTHERING" 


"Mothering" 

"Amongst  these  (old  customs)  was  a  practice 
of  going  to  see  parents,  and  especially  the  female 
one,  on  the  mid  Sunday  of  Lent,  taking  for  them 
some  little  present,  such  as  a  cake  or  a  trinket. 
A  youth  engaged  in  this  amiable  act  of  duty  was 
said  to  go  ea-mothering,'  and  hence  the  day  itself 
came  to  be  called  'Mothering  Sunday.'  " 
Chambers'  Book  of  Days. 

BY  THE  Sabbath  of  spirit  enfolden, 

Which  quiet  and  revery  bring; 

In    the    light    of   years    backward   beholden, — • 

Winged  decades,  too  swift  on  the  wing; 

Reviving  the  wont  of  days  olden, 

Our  hearts  go  a-mothering. 

What  may  we  give  her,  the  Mother, 
Whose  travail  of  soul  gave  us  birth ; 
Through  whom  we  are  sister  and  brother, 
Too  one  for  the  sundering  earth — 
Trinket  or  cake  or  some  other 
Gift  of  as  trivial  worth? 

[93] 


OUTBOUND 

Ah,  but  we  need  not  to  bring  her 
Aught  but  ourselves  in  this  hour! 
The  Vision  asks  naught  of  the  singer 
Save  alone  that  he  flood  with  its  power; 
Nor  Moon,  of  the  shadows  that  linger, 
Save  that  they  drink  of  her  shower. 

Ever  in  beauty  all  fadeless, 

She  welcomes  us  back  to  her  sight : 

Time,  making  leafless  and  bladeless 

The  forest  and  meadow  by  flight, 

Her  hath  bedimmed  not  nor  made  less — 

Her  like  a  star  in  the  height ! 

By  the  Sabbath  of  spirit  enfolden, 

Which  quiet  and  revery  bring; 

In    the    light    of    years    backward    beholden,- 

Winged  decades,  too  swift  on  the  wing; 

Reviving  the  love  of  days  olden, 

Our  hearts  go  a-mothering. 


[94] 


VALEDICTORY 


Valedictory 

WE  HAVE  been  captained  well ! — So  in  this  hour, 
Severing  sailors'  bonds,  we  needs  must  feel; 
He  now  to  navigate  with  other  keel, 
Our  Captain  !  .  .  .  We  shall  miss  him  if  the  power 
Of  storm  us  smite,  remembering  him  a  tower 
Of  strength;  and  miss  him,  too,  though  pilot's 

wheel 

Steer  us  in  placid  waterways  of  weal, 
Where  all's  like  summer  sunshine  after  shower. 
It  hath  been  joy  to  shake  out  or  take  in 
Sail  to  his  masterful  bidding;  and  lift  gaze 
At  his  behest  to  midnight  skies,  and  tell 
Our  course  by  stars.  .  . .  Whatso  new  ports  he  win, 
Whoso  his  crew  to  lead  in  coming  days, 
God  speed  him  still!    We  have  been  captained 

well! 


[95] 


OUTBOUND 


Progress 

Once  on  a  time,  six  thousand  years  agone — 
Or  twice  or  thrice  six  thousand — Trilobites 
Were  the  only  people  having  eyes,  and  they 
Had  scarce  begun  to  have  them,  so  that  some 
Were  yet  sans  eyes  or  signs  of  eyes  to  be. 
The  utmost  e'en  their  seers  could  ken  as  yet 
Was  that  in  murk  they  lived  their  life,  although 
Perchance  there  might  be  such  a  thing  as  light. 
As  time  went  on,  one  of  them  so  advanced 
That  having  haply  come  to  the  water's  top 
By  day,  he  saw  the  sun.    So  down  he  went 
And  told  the  folk  below,  in  general 
The  world  was  light,  which  state  of  things  was 

caused 

By  an  all-illuming  One.   Him,  then,  they  slew, 
Charged  with  disturbance  of  the  commonwealth ; 
Yet  deemed  it  impious  ere  long  to  doubt 
The  world  in  general  was  light,  and  One 
The  cause  alone  of  light.    But  fierce  disputes 
They  had  about  the  manner  in  which  they 
Had  come  to  know  this. 

[96] 


PROGRESS 

Afterwards  another 

Likewise  so  far  advanced  that  being  borne 
To  the  water's  top  by  night  he  saw  the  stars; 
And  going  back  he  told  the  folk  below 
The  world  in  general  was  dark,  but  yet 
Had  lights  in  a  great  number.   Him  they  slew 
For  maintenance  of  doctrines  that  were  false. 
But  from  that  time  the  Trilobites  were  split 
Into  two  parties,  these  maintaining  this, 
Those,  that, — until  enough  had  learned  to  see, 
Monist  and  pluralist  alike,  with  eyes. 


197] 


OUTBOUND 


Ambition 

in  a  blossom's  cup 
Dream  of  buoying  vessels  up. 

Every  glow-worm  thinks  'twould  grace 
The  lost  Pleiad's  vacant  place. 

If  spheres  retired,  their  music  dumb, 
Motes  would  cry :  ' '  My  hour  is  come  ! ' ' 


[98] 


"A  BLUR  OF  BUILDINGS" 


"A   Blur  of  Buildings" 

(On  a  distant  prospect  of  a  marine  biological 
laboratory) 


A  blur  of  buildings  in  the  distance, 

Hills  at  their  back,  and  at  their  front,  the  sea, 

All  summer  took  my  gaze  with  strange  insistence, 

Whenso  I  strolled  alone  to  be 

With  the  loveliness  of  shore  'twixt  them  and  me. 

No  rarer  seascape  e'er  was  gazed  upon 

Than  that  beheld  from  where  I  Ve  stood : 

The  Sea — a  Solomon 

To  Queen-of-Sheba  rise  and  set  of  sun! 

And  the  sickle-curve  of  shore  with  surfy  white 

Blossoming  and  reblossoming  in  the  light!  .  .  . 

Yet  ofttimes  vision  ranging  as  it  would 

Leapt  to  the  clustered  buildings  glimpsed  afar, 

To  pore  in  quiet  thought  on  what  they  are. 

A  visible  embodiment,  lo,  these, 

Of  man's  interrogating — here,  of  seas! 

His  importuning  things, 

[99] 


OUTBOUND 

Out  of  the  Mystery  that  him  enrings 
To  make  revealment  somewhat  of  themselves. 
Elsewhere  he  barters,  builds,  or  delves: 
Here  he  would  know.  .  .  . 
Whereof  he  covets  lore,  the  vastness,  lo! 
What  he  would  understand,  the  deep,  behold! 
Fain  is  he  here  of  news 
What  gamut  hath  the  sea 
Of  life  from  whale  to  animalculae ; 
What  arc  from  massing  kelp,  the  tide  upflings, 
To  filmiest  vegetation  out  of  ooze. 
Such    Odyssey   to   travel   here   he   makes    him 
bold.  .  .  . 

n 

Last  night  old  Ocean  shook  with  laughter. 

"Record  tides?" 

I  know  the  reason  why  he  held  his  sides,  — 

And  laughed  until  the  very  earth 

Flooded  with  peals  of  silver  mirth; 

I  knew  it  after 

I  saw  the  blur  of  white  in  coign  of  hills, 

And  thought  what  place  it  fills. 

Methinks  there  must  have  come  into  his  ken 

Somehow  an  inkling  of  its  purpose,  too. 

Someone  had  whispered  him,  I  know  not  who, 

[100] 


"A  BLUR  OF  BUILDINGS" 

That  bent  within  sit  spectacled  sage  men 

In  microscopic  study  of  the  slime, 

His  sputum;  that  they  tabulate  and  sum 

All  the  life-history  and  descent  of  scum 

Since  when  it  rose  in  time; 

That  by  aquarium  culled  out  from  him 

They  would  epitomize  his  world  aswim.  .  .  . 

Ocean  laughed 

Until  the  darkling  hills  thought  him  gone  daft. 

I  heard — broke  into  laughter,  too, 

With  the  hilarious  Deep, 

And  laughed  later  again  in  sleep, 

And  laughed,  awake:  so'd  you, 

Getting  old  Ocean's  (and  my)  point  of  view. 

Ill 

The  Sea  this  morning  is  of  other  mood: 

His  rondure — ah,  how  multihued! 

Like  bubble's  iris 

All  his  attire  is, — 

And  I,  as  one  at  feast,  partake  of  food. 

Afar  out  of  a  mist  the  wonted  blur 

Of  buildings  now  doth  reoccur. 

The  pigmy  hath  grown  wrestler,  giant-thewed, 

And  I,  a  mocker  erst,  grow  worshiper.  .  .  . 

[101] 


OUTBOUND 

What  though  'tis  labor  but  of  ants,  our  grapple 

With  yonder  sea's 

Staggering  faunas,  staggering  floras, 

Immanent  there  beneath  the  blue-green  dapple? 

Yet  that  we  have  not  quailed, 

Yet  that  we  durst  confront  such  mysteries — 

Our  Pelion  piled  on  Ossa,  albeit  o?er  us 

Topless  Olympus  towers  unsealed — 

Is  cause  for  awe  I  trow, 

Is  reason  adequate  for  worship  now. 

What  though,  while  we  aspire  to  know  as  gods, 

Our  learning  go  to  seed  in  mental  pods? 

What  though,  by  snail-like  increments,  our  wit 

Make  progress,  compassing  the  infinite? 

Not  what  he  is,  what  he  would  be 

Is  Man's  sublimity! 

And  therefore  from  yon  pharos  of  the  mind 

Streams  in  upon  me  light  till  I  grow  blind. 

Yon  clustered  buildings  dome  themselves  with 
sky; 

I  stand  saluting:  Presence  goeth  by.  ... 

Of  the  resplendent  dead  with  awe  I  think, 

Through  whom  came  Knowledge,  link  by  toil 
some  link. 

Like  one  in  trance  behold  I  what's  to  do — 

[102] 


"A  BLUR  OF  BUILDINGS" 

What  desert  wilds  of  sage,  each  morn  anew, 

To  hive-emerging  bees. 

Cloistered  Mendel  saw — and  wrought  with  peas ; 

Darwin  with  earth-worms,  too. 

Not  only  in  the  vastnesses  we  search, 

But  follow  atom's  cue  in  smut  and  smirch; 

Peer  into  slime,  comb  every  discard  lump 

Of  matter,  as  the  poor,  a  city's  dump. 

Jewelry  may  be  there  .  .  .  coin,  too  .  .  .  who 

knows? 

Enough  to  pay  our  way  abroad ! 
Torn  guide-books,  haply,  or  soiled  leaves  from 

those, 
Yet  Baedeker  enough  to  travel  God !  .  .  . 


[103] 


OUTBOUND 


"In  My  Father's  House" 

I  LOVE,  I  love  this  beauteous  world  of  ours, 

This  irised  shell  whose  pearl  is  Deity ! 

I  love  a  forest  wild,  a  maddened  sea, — 

Their  swaying  massive  greens;  I  love  a  flower's 

Dew-shimmer;   swathing  mist;   the   sun    'twixt 

showers ; 

The  moon  whose  veil  of  cloud  is  half  withdrawn ; 
That  white-haired  Quiet  face  to  face  with  dawn, 
A  mount  which  into  lonely  summit  towers. 
I  love  the  seamless  blue  of  noon;  the  shade, 
Rewoven  pensively  for  sundown  earth; 
I  love  the  royal  Thunder's  cannonade 
Of  gladness  o'er  a  Rainbow's  princely  birth; 
I  love  the  cosmic  hush  in  space  afar; 
I  love  the  universe  from  mote  to  star. 


[104] 


OUT-OF-DOORS 


Out-of-Doors 

JUST  to  inhale  this  prairie  air,  afoot, 
Out  on  a  prairie  road,  flanked  either  side 
With  stubble  fields;  just  to  reopen  wide 
One's  windowed  soul,  and  every  door  flung  shut, 
And  let  the  winds  blow  through  it;  just  to  put 
Miles  in  the  rear  of  me  with  strenuous  stride, 
Men  in  the  rear  of  me,  and  city's  pride, 
Self  in  the  rear,  with  no  less  reek  and  soot — 
The  glee  of  it !  ...  They  nibble  and  sip,  no  doubt, 
My  out-of-doors,  the  folk  who  distanced  me, 
Soft-cushioned  in  their  car,  that  yonder  fades. 
I  walk  and  breathe :  my  soul 's  the  leaping  trout 
In  a  water  brook,  God 's  mountain  ecstasy, — 
Darting  and  swimming  in  the  white  cascades. 


[105] 


OUTBOUND 


Adolescence 

MY  SIREN  is  a  storm-disheveled  wood, 

Toothed  lightnings  comb;  or  torrent  rush,  that 

raves 

Down  a  circuitous  channel,  chaos  paves. 
I  climb  aloft  where  Alpine  solitude 
Lies  yawning  for  an  avalanche,  its  food, 
Just  to  halloo  into  the  dark  of  caves. 
Ho,  ho!   I  envy  mere-folk  when  the  waves 
Froth  like  a  royal  ale  for  wassail  brewed. 
I  crave  adventure  as  the  hunter,  game; 
My  being's  ichor  must  have  fierce  delight: 
A  precipice  with  the  strange  lure  and  urge 
And  shudder  of  recoil  anigh  the  verge; 
Or  python  smoke  in  the  dim  tocsined  night, 
And  savage  glee  of  liberated  flame. 


[106] 


LAKE  LOUISE 


Lake  Louise 

OUT  of  blue-green  Lake  Louise, 

Singing  waters  came  down  to  meet  me, 

Danced  from  among  their  mountain  trees, 
With  shining  morning  face  to  greet  me. 

God!  what  space-congesting  heights! 

Peaks   upsoaring   and  peak   outwinging!  .  . 
What  of  the  mirror  of  their  flights, 

Whence  poured  that  jubilance  of  singing? 

Up  I  climbed,  the  brook  my  guide, 
Up  into  grandeurs  that  ensky  it, 

Till,  ere  I  knew,  lo,  there  beside 

Sheer  mount,  the  azure-emerald  Quiet! 

Ever  back  of  the  song,  the  Soul! 

Ever  back  of  the  dream,  the  Dreamer! 
Ever  back  of  the  part,  the  Whole! — 

And  here,  back  of  supreme,  Supremer!  .  . 

Out  of  blue-green  Lake  Louise, 

Singing  waters  came  down  to  meet  me, — 
Lyric  precursive  prophecies 

Of  what  fulfilled  ere  long  did  greet  me! 

[107] 


OUTBOUND 


The  Kingbird 

I  LIKE  the  little  bird! 
Yesterday,  on  my  word, 
I  cheered  him  when  he  took  in  tow 
A  supercilious  crow. 

To-day  I  saw  him  bent 

On  punitive  intent, 

And  laughed  to  think  how  verily  this 

Was  Salamis. 

With  like  fierce  buffetings 
Of  swift  pugnacious  wings 
Was  Attic  summer  azure  freed 
From  the  ill-omened  Mede. 


[108] 


A  THRENODY 


A  Threnody 

THOU  dead,  whose  throat  with  ecstasy 

Was  wont  to  overflow  so ; 
And  hushed  thy  wondrous  melody, 

Thou  sylvan  virtuoso? 

Our  eyes  are  fed  with  purple  light, 

When  Day  her  end  is  nearing ; 
Who'll  feed,  since  thou  hast  taken  flight, 

Our  hungry  sense  of  hearing? 

Thou  wast,  when  in  thy  lustihood, 

Of  all  but  song  a  scorner: 
Has  not  the  Abbey  of  the  wood 

Somewhere  a  Poets'  Corner? 

And  yet  why  bury  in  the  ground 
Wings  that  have  lost  their  fleetness? 

Some  leaves  will  do.  ...  So,  there's  a  mound! 
Sleep,  child  of  light  and  sweetness! 


[109] 


OUTBOUND 


A  Mountain  Sunrise 

UPWARD  the  gradual  trail  that  serpentines 
A  mountain-side  we  climbed,  ere  yet  the  dawn 
That  silvery  fore-radiance  had  withdrawn 
Of  the  sun's  white  upcoming.     As  when  shines 
A  singer's  face  with  song  his  heart  divines, 
Yet  knowing  not  but  it  may  fail  him,  low 
His  lips  make  moan  .  .  .  beneath  that  natal  glow 
Sighing  half  audibly,  uprose  the  pines. 
Higher  and  higher  aloft  the  spiral  trail, 
Where  light  became  effulgence ;  far  beneath, 
The  legioned  hush  and  sylvan  majesty! 
Another  splintered  crag  like  dragon's  teeth, 
And  lo,  upon  the  summit,  giving  hail 
Unto  the  vast  of  skyey  outlook,  we ! 


[110] 


PRESENCE 


Presence 

GrAZING    Without 

I  see  the  migrant  flakes, 
Swirling  multitudinous  out  of  the  skies; 
Social  snowflakes,  winter-tide's  butterflies, 
Winter's  locusts  putting  the  sun  to  rout, 
Whose  seething  advent  unmakes  and  makes, 
Whose  flashing  coming  is  smiting  and  healing  in 

one, 

Ending  of  all  things  old,  all  new  things  begun; 
Cancelling  rutted  highways,  landmarks  of  fields, 
Stubbles  of  bygone  yields, 
Plains  portioned  out  into  states, 
As  loaves  from  the  kneaded  dough,— 
Unraveling  the  many,  weaving  the  One  below; 
Out  of  what  nowhere  source, 
Speeding  what  nowhither  course, 
0  multi-myriad  shuttle  whose  to-and-fro  creates 
Yonder  the  whelming  shroud  of  yesterdays, 
Yonder  to  prescient  gaze 
Swaddling  clothes  for  a  man-child  birth, — 
To-morrow,   scion  whose   realm  be   the   After- 
earth!  .  .  . 

[Ill] 


OUTBOUND 

Ah,  here  is  dream, 

Vision  and  glory,  worthy  singer 's  emprise ! 

I,  falconing  space  for  a  theme, 

Find  quarry  congesting  the  skies, — 

Find  myself  the  pursued,  put  to  rout 

By  kingbird  dartings  of  meaning  athwart  and 

about.  .  .  . 

Sense  me  seemed  the  rear  entrance  to  soul : 
The  gala  front-way  portals,  carven  and  wrought 
Richly,  I  deemed  were  Feeling  and  Thought; 
But  here  God  entereth  in  by  the  humbler  door, 
Making  matter  Presence  as  never  before; 
Yet  even  for  entering  so, 
Plunging  on  either  side  His  chariot  pole, 
Dappled  splendors  hale  hither  their  Lord, 
As  if  for  Last-Judgment  award; 
And  yet .  .  .  and  yet  .  .  .  who  doth  know 
But  yon  an  utterleast  flakelet  of  snow 
Is  Presence-chamber  now, 
Where,  before  white-throned  Spirit,  spirit  may 

bow! 

Here  seemeth  whirlwind  His  choice: 
Crashing  mid-prairie,   tempest  hath   broke, 
Making  the  smitten  plains  to  smoke; 
Ruining  down  its  thoroughfare,  space, 

[112] 


PRESENCE 

Blanching  all  with  Omnipresence  of  Face.  .  .  . 

Anon  for  such  coming  in  power, 

The  still  small  Voice ! 

Emerged  at  the  door  of  this  fleshly  cave, 

I  will  stand,  His  prophet,  that  Hour, 

Mantling  my  sight,  yet  beholding  that  save 

For  Him  there  is  godhead  none, — 

Save  for  Him,  the  One, 

No  worship  in  lands  abroad. 

With  the  Vision  alone, 

Obeisant  unto  Its  passing,  I  shall  have  known 

Horeb,  the  mount  of  God. 


[113] 


OUTBOUND 


"I  Am" 

CONVINCE  the  greening  earth  no  spring-tides  be ; 

The  sun,  no  dawn ;  the  stars  of  night  abroad, 
No  skyey  azure ;  soul,  no  deity : 

The  only  evidence  of  God  is  God. 


[114] 


PENELOPE 


Penelope 

ONCE  when  a  sigh 

Escaped  my  lips  in  time  of  spirit  ebb, 

And  leaden  dearth  of  sky, 

And  valley  of  snowy  plains  beneath  mine  eye ; 

When  day's  incipient  thaw, 

Nightly  precipitation  so  undid, 

More  utterly  than  ever  earth  was  hid ; 

Suddenly  then  I  saw 

This  weaving  and  unravelling  of  snow 

Like  hers — the  queen   of  suitor-foiling  web, 

Chaste  for  her  homing  lord  thereby, 

And  chaste  for  all  the  after-ages  so. 

Here,  too,  lo,  an  Awaited  One, 

Earth's  lordly  spouse,  the  Sun! 

To  slay  with  arrows  keen  of  warmth  and  light 

Fogs,  crowding  in  and  lusting  for  embrace, 

Fain  to  unscepter  him  of  state  and  place. — 

I  repented  me  that  I  erewhile  did  plain, 

I  repented  me  of  seeing  not  aright. 

Penelope  .  .  .  the  Prairie  without  stain! 


[115] 


OUTBOUND 


Night 

0  Night,  the  apotheosis  of  Day! 
Whene'er  the  mind  grows  poor  and  self -content, 

1  need  but  gaze  upon  thy  firmament, 

And  boundless  cosmic  thoughts  once  more  hold 

sway; 

I  need  but  view  thy  star-paved  Milky  Way, 
To  tremble  with  new  promptings  to  ascent; 
And  watch  thy  moon  on  heights  of  azure  bent, 
To  feel  the  tidal  soul  suffuse  the  clay. 
Full-flooding  noons,  the  eagle's  gaze  hath  met, 
Long  afterglows  o'er  endlessness  of  sea, 
And   mountains   with   their   lone    white    pefaks 

untrod, — 

These  would  have  been,  thou  being  not :  and  yet 
What  Beauty  at  the  full  ?  and,  save  for  thee, 
What  Hymen  of  the  pure  in  heart  with  God  ?  .  .  . 


[116] 


'IN  THE  COOL  OF  THE  DAY' 


"In  the  Cool  of  the  Day" 

IN  THE  cool  of  the  day  He  walked  the  garden, 
And  the  little  flowers  met  His  eyes  in  the  way : 

No  sin  was  yet  in  the  world  to  pardon, 
Nor  sunset  mixed  with  regret  of  the  day. 

The  afterglow  took  unwonted  splendor, 

Of  smoldering  flame  was  the  mountains '  attire ; 

Encircling  trees  loomed  golden  to  render 
Their  heavenly  Visitant  tribute  of  fire. 

Out  of  the  forest's  translucent  porches 
Came  He  at  length,  of  His  revery  fain : 

And  Night,  enkindling  her  myriad  torches, 
Lighted  Him  back  to  His  heavens  again.  .  .  . 

We  would  furlough  Toil  with  a  little  slumber, 
Yet  sudden  dreams  make  a  sword  of  the  night ; 

Nor  needs  must  be  the  awakening  to  number 
Again  in  the  ranks  of  who  struggle  and  fight. 

But  Twilight  meek  that  the  earth  doth  inherit, — 
0  tender  with  what  all-tenderness,  she! 

[117] 


OUTBOUND 

Her  gift — no  Nessus-robe  to  who  wear  it ; 
Her  quietude  like  a  tide  of  the  sea, 

The     channels     reflooding     that     soon     would 
harden, — 

Spirit  again  overmastering  clay! 
In  the  cool  of  the  day  He  walked  the  garden : 

Ours  be  His  peace  in  the  selfsame  way! 


[US] 


THE  HILLS 


The  Hills 

THE  hills,  the  hills,  in  that  sweet  South 

Of  our  blended  summer  days ! 

Bridal  at  morn  with  softest  mist, 

At  evening  kissed 

Farewell  beneath  a  veil  of  sunset  haze, 

Saffron  and  amethyst! 

The  hills,  the  hills,  in  that  sweet  South 
Of  our  blended  summer  days! 
Shimmer  of  ocean  at  their  feet, 
Making  retreat 

Into  blue  distances,  whereon  to  gaze 
Was  spirit's  drink  and  meat! 

The  hills,  the  hills,  in  that  sweet  South — 

But  enough  of  fond  regret! 

Prairie  again  since  fate  so  wills! 

My  life  fulfills 

Itself  not  without  joy,  here  too, — and  yet, 

The  hills !  our  summer  hills !  .  .  . 


[119] 


OUTBOUND 


Essence 

IP  OUT  of  these  lapsed  days  I  could  recall 
Beauty,  and  by  distilling  make  them  be 
Like  perfumes  rare  to  pour  out  fragrantly, 
And  scent  a  scentless  season  to  befall, 
Surely  it  were  poor  thrift  not  to  put  all 
Else  by,  and  let  them  work  their  will  of  me: 
Who  knows  but  in  them  may  be  potency 
Such  as  was  David 's  harp  to  lowering  Saul ! 

So  letting  a  sweet  pageantry  of  sights 
And  scenes  come  back  in  quietude  of  dream, 
I  sit  here  of  an  evening.   Like  a  stream 
Known  to  the  far  beholder  on  the  heights 
By  aureole  of  mist,  whereon  the  lights, 
Moonglade  and  starglade,  intermelting  gleam, 
So  aureoled  in  memory  doth  seem 
A  summer's  flow  afar  of  days  and  nights. 

And  what  if  not  that  one  was  at  my  side, 

Gentle  co-sharer  and  co-worshiper, 

Makes  rich  in  retrospect  the  hours  that  were! 

[120] 


ESSENCE 

Whether  a  mountain  goal  with  strenuous  stride 
We  sought,  or  stood  before  entranced  tide, 
Receiving  sunset  benizon,  for  her 
How  the  loveliness  I  felt  grew  lovelier! 
How  sure  in  dew-like  influence  to  abide ! 

Oh,  what  a  tow-path  were  the  universe 
For  haling  the  brute  bulk  of  things,  unless 
Betimes  there  came  surcease  of  strain  and  stress, 
And  living  by  bread  only!    We  might  curse 
Job-like  our  birth-hour,  knowing  ourselves  worse 
Than  ruminating  beast,  if  Quietness 
Us  pastured  never, — the  sweet  shepherdess, 
Tenderer  than  our  tenderest  dreams  rehearse ! 

'Tis  out  of  the  self  dofft  with  doubt  and  cares 

That  spring  the  very  joys  for  which  we  pine : 

0  idle  bookless  hours  wherein  no  sign 

Of  gain — what  rich  ingathering  was  theirs! 

Then  sowing  not  nor  reaping  we  were  heirs 

To  kingdoms,  all  the  affluence  divine 

Poured  spendthrift  with  the  morning's  rain  or 

shine, 
Where  toiling  might  have  netted  us  but  tares. 

Strange  law  of  spirit  husbandry,  attested 
By  days  whereto  I  backward  yearn  this  hour ! 

[121] 


OUTBOUND 

Their  largess — came  it  not  as  to  a  flower 
Perfume  and  color,  not  desired  or  quested, 
Or  from  begrudging  hand  of  giver  wrested, 
But  lavished  freely  like  the  April  shower, 
Or  like  the  little  bird's  melodious  dower, 
That  singing  soars  aloft  from  where  it  nested? 

In  glad  release  where  sea  and  mountain  wrought 

Sorceries  on  a  prairie-sated  mind, 

I  lingered,  fain  of  clime  where  Nature  kind 

Doth  make  of  summer  the  perpetual  lot 

Of  dwellers  there,  her  hand  withholding  naught. 

What  tenderness  I  had  not  dreamed  to  find 

Alike  in  morning  sun  and  sun  declined! 

Smiles  as  for  child  in  mother-arms  upcaught! 

Goaded  by  sting  and  frenzy  of  the  frore 
Blasts  out  of  northern  sky,  I  oft  have  said: 
"What  matter,  so  to  Beauty  I  be  wed 
Within ! "  .  .  .  and  sought  me  shelter  behind  door. 
And  yet  doth  it  not  matter  if  before 
The  outward  eye  no  loveliness  be  shed 
Abroad?   From  whence  the  spirit's  daily  bread, 
If  not  out  of  the  sense-world 's  yielded  store  ? 

Forgive,  great  Prairies,  the  so  puling  strain ! 
Not  niggard  is  the  bounty  that  your  hands 

[122] 


ESSENCE 

Dispense  unto  the  heart  that  understands. 

For  thirst  there  hath  been  beaker  here  to  drain ; 

For  hunger,  meat.  Then  wherefore  Song's  dis 
dain? 

Because,  forsooth,  I  walked  on  alien  strands, 

Or  climbed  unnative  hills?  .  .  .  Forgive,  great 
Lands ! 

Forgive  my  ' '  Colin  Clout 's  come  home  again  ! ' ' 

— Our  country,  rife  with  oil  and  wine  and  corn, 

Her  milk  and  honey  everywhere  aflow, 

Hath  not  a  peer  in  beauty,  too,  I  know. 

Who  sees  Yosemite  invading  morn 

With  trees  whose  Samson  locks  were  never  shorn, 

Or  Shasta  with  his  hieroglyphs  of  snow, 

But  needs  must  wonder,  in  that  hour  of  glow, 

Why  yet  hath  not  the  Singer  of  these  been  born  ? 

For  why  should  forests  wrestle  with  the  gales, 
Or  why  the  wonder  of  a  prairie 's  lone 
Communion  with  the  sunset,  and  the  blown 
Rose  of  the  morning  o'er  expectant  vales; 
Why  else  our  seas'  white  foliage  of  sails, 
Niagara  and  twice-plunging  Yellowstone, 
Unless  that  Song  should  come  into  her  own, 
Failing  of  which,  of  Destiny  she  fails? 

[123] 


OUTBOUND 

What  though  the  Mississippi  Gulfward  speed, 
Creating  sea-usurping  deltas,  whence 
New  empire  states  will  rise  in  ages  hence? 
Forgot  will  be  our  every  thought  and  deed 
Not  Song-rehearsed.   Thus  is  it  fate-decreed: 
In  Song  alone  a  land  hath  permanence. 
Abiding  Hellas  draws  her  glory  thence, 
But  where  to-day  Phoenicia's  wealth  and  greed! 

The  cloud  of  hand-like  breadth  before  great  rain, 

Who  gazing  forth  from  Carmel  now  espies? 

Lo,  spirit  tropics   'neath  exhausted  skies, 

Where  only  the  spiked  cactuses  remain, 

And  heart  hath  gone  to  seed  in  cunning  brain! 

0  for  an  Age  less  knowing  and  more  wise ! 

O  for  a  Seer  as  of  old  to  rise, 

And  shepherd  us  with  Vision  once  again! 

Man's  body  soars  to-day  like  nimble  swallow, — 
Curbed  are  the  mettled  air-foals ;  land  and  sea 
Are  rutted  with  his  thunderous  chariotry: 
Soars,  too,  his  Spirit  ...  or  doth  only  wallow  ? 
It  cannot  be :  Spirit  must  lead,  not  follow, 
Else  queenless  swarm  our  triumphs ;  else  are  we 
Mazeppas  of  our  own  speed-enginery, — 
Ay,  of  the  planet  plunging  through  heaven's 
hollow ! 

[124] 


ESSENCE 

— So  questioned  we  perplexed  of  time  and  fate, 
Betimes  in  summer  days,  where  bush  or  tree 
Shredded  the  noonday  sunlight;  yet  the  glee 
And  zest  of  things  more  oft  postponed  their 

weight 

And  mystery  to  other  place  and  date. 
Waves  capped  themselves  with  merriment  of  the 

sea: 

Admitted  to  their  jocund  company, 
How  could  our  hearts  be  other  than  elate! 

Be  still  elate,  the  wintry  months  ahead, 
And  glad  with  the  same  gladness,  heart,  con 
tinue! 

Albeit  unknown,  the  web  of  fate  they  spin  you, 
Yourself  may  weave  the  Adriadne-thread 
Whereby  your  groping  lightward  will  be  led 
Through  labyrinth  that  baffleth  wit  and  sinew. 
Be  still  elate:  heaven's  kingdom  is  within  you, 
Whatever  darkling  maze  the  feet  may  tread! 

If  stream-begotten  canyons  have  been  sawed 
Out  of  the  basic  adamant  of  things, 
Where  water  toiling  in  the  depth  yet  sings, 
Why  should  not  we  whose  souls  have  been  abroad 
'Mid  scenes  where  beauty  charmed  and  wonder 
awed, 

[125] 


OUTBOUND 

Ply  whatsoever  task  the  morrow  brings 

With  singing  ?   Earth  is  fair,  the  sun  upsprings 

As  yesterday — the  same  heavens !  the  same  God ! 

Ay,  singing  though  with  transitory  breath, 
A  transitory  season!    'Twixt  the  child, 
And  Age,  the  child  again,  not  many-miled 
The  stream  of  human  life  meandereth. 
Thus  serious  mid-manhood's  vision  saith. 
Yet,  flowing,  if  betimes  it  shall  have  smiled 
Green  meads  among,  nor  wound  its  course  un- 

isled, 
Sweetly  repose  admonishing,  comes  Death. 

A  little  sheaf  of  Euth-gleaned  hours  may  sow 
What  tracts  of  Time  for  harvest !   Camelot 
Itself  upbuilded  out  of  the  forgot. 
Our  yesterdays  become  the  Long- Ago 
By  passing  of  the  years,  and  then  bestow 
Their  precious  balm  on  memory,  being  not — 
As  grasses  by  the  subtle  sickle  cut 
Become  all  after-odorous  for  the  throe.  . 


[126] 


"WHEN  THE  WAVES   SLIP   BACK" 


"When  the  Waves  Slip  Back" 

(On  espying  a  fish  left  behind  by  the  tide) 

This  stark  and  noisome  thing  with  eyes  astare, 

Left  dry  on  the  rock, — 

Clove  it  indeed  with  arrowy  swimming 

The  main  a  half  hour  since  ? 

Was  all  yon  vast  of  liquid  sea 

'Twixt  Polar  solitudes  and  Carib  summer 

Thine, — but  a  half  hour  since  ? 

And  then  of  a  sudden — thine  no  more, 

When  the  waves  slip  back! 

And  me  whom  Birth  endenizened  in  Time, 
Shall  the  like  befall  ? 
Cleave  I  not,  too,  with  arrowy  swimming 
A  main,  mastering  it  all? 
A  vast  of  liquid  sea 

'Twixt  bournes  whereof  to  thought  is  no  con 
ceiving, 

Mine — till  what  tidal  hour? 
And  then  of  a  sudden — mine  no  more, 
When  the  waves  slip  back! 

[127] 


OUTBOUND 


Song  of  Unrest 


OPT  in  hours  of  sleeplessness, 

Sad  of  soul, 

In  a  shadowy  recess 

Of  the  wood  I  stroll. 

Sighs  the  forest:  "In  the  glooming, 

When  the  trees  are  skyward  looming, 

Comes  a  cloud  the  stars  entombing, 

And  I  mourn  in  sleeplessness." 

Oft  in  hours  of  sleeplessness, 

Sad  of  soul, 

In  a  dewy-eyed  recess 

Of  the  dell  I  stroll. 

Sobs  the  lowland:  "There's  a  yearning 

In  the  humblest  bosom  burning: 

Vales  to  mountains  are  upturning 

Wistful  eyes  of  sleeplessness." 

Oft  in  hours  of  sleeplessness, 

Sad  of  soul, 

In  a  moonlight-blanched  recess 

[128] 


SONG  OF  UNREST 

Of  the  lea  I  stroll. 

Moans  the  night- wind:    "Earth  is  dreary, 

Life  mysterious  and  uncheery, 

And  the  human  heart  aweary 

With  unrest  and  sleeplessness." 

Oft  in  hours  of  sleeplessness, 

Sad  of  soul, 

In  a  foam-befringed  recess 

Of  the  beach  I  stroll. 

Sings  a  wavelet:  "Death's  a  pillow, 

Giving  sleep  to  man  and  billow, 

And  'neath  yew  or  weeping  willow 

None  need  suffer  sleeplessness." 


[129] 


OUTBOUND 


"Times  Be  When  Life  Seems  Aimless 
and  Uncouth" 

TIMES  be  when  Life  seems  aimless  and  uncouth, 
Like  a  whelp's  day-long  loping  to  and  fro; 
When  little  that  the  boastful  world  can  show 
Seems  worthy  reverence,  scarce  worthy  ruth. 
Its  empire  at  the  beck  of  birth-crowned  youth; 
Authority,  the  lord  of  them  that  know ; 
Still  wrung  from  Galileo:  "Ay,  even  so!" 
Nor  now  his  whisper,  reenthroning  Truth. 
And  many  a  Baiae,  lying  sea-empearled, 
All  garlanded  with  loveliness  appears; 
Yet  there  who  enters  in  Penelope 
Comes  forth — Helen.   Knowing  that  such  things 

be, 

Long  since  I  had  forwearied  of  the  world, 
But  for  my  Loved  One's  widowed  after-years. 


[130] 


MOODS 


Moods 

MOODS,  moods, 

Ye  are  like  broods, 

Tempest  would  smite  on, 

Sparrow-hawks  light  on, — 

Therefore  ye  lie  'neath  the  covert  of  wings, 

Sensitive  things! 

Moods,  moods, 

Ye  are  like  feuds, 

Truce  hath  brought  hush  to, 

Consciousness,  blush  to, — 

Therefore  ye  vanish  away  into  air, 

Tarrying  ne'er! 

Moods,  moods, 

Brief  interludes, 

Sun  during  bleak  days, 

Sabbath  dream,  week-days, — 

Therefore  ye  dower  life  with  something  sublime, 

Outlasting  time ! 


[131] 


OUTBOUND 


Surf 

Out  of  the  sea's  continuous  white  offensive 
A  record-making  breaker  up  the  sand-bar  .  .  . 
And  so  I  fall  to  pondering  human  lives. 

Seething  offensives  and  retreats — the  sea! 
One's  backward  clashing  with  another's  forward, 
One's  white  momentum  upward,  tackled,  hurled 
Aback — and  so  no  record  on  the  sand. 

One  rising,  white-toothed,  blue-lipped,  out  at  sea, 
And  thunderous  churning  shoreward  with  a  wake 

of  madness, 

Touching  the  strand  just  as  all  waves  are  spent, 
All  oppositionless  in  swirl  of  onset, 
With  an  avalanche  of  waters,  flooding,  flooding, 
Making  a  record  up  the  sands  unequalled, 
And  lapping  in  dry  stranded  strings  of  kelp. 

Another  rising,  caught  in  its  fierce  ebbing, — 
Crushed  by  the  hissing  python  in  recoil; 
Sepulchred  in  the  sea  without  achievement, 
Cancelled  and  void  because  another  scored. 

[132] 


SUEF 

Out  of  the  sea's  continuous  white  offensive, 
The  endless  generations  of  the  surf  .  .  . 
And  I,  in  revery,  pondering  human  lives ! 


[133] 


OUTBOUND 


Cause  and  Effect 

BETWEEN  trains  there  was  time  to  stroll  a  bit : 
I  walked  the  main  street  with  displays  in  shops, 
Lazily  in  the  mood  of  one  who  drops 
Worry,  and  let  things  harry  him  no  whit, 
Or  men.    Then  jarred  on  sight — words  scarce 

befit- 
Athwart  me  someone  reeling,  with  a  top's 
Wobbling  uncertainty  just  ere  it  stops. 
' '  Better  go  back, ' '  I  said, — ' '  watch  women  knit. ' ' 
But — hours     of    waiting.      Freight-train     gone 

askew. — 

The  town  was  that  in  which  the  State  doth  house 
Her  weak-brained — whom  I  visited  anon, 
Ward  after  crowded  ward  ...  a  piteous  crew ! 
In  one  of  them  was  he  of  the  morn's  carouse, 
Calling    to    see — what    should    have    been    his 

son.  . 


[134] 


EN  ROUTE 


En  Route 

IT'S  risking  loss,  no  matter  where  one  scants 
Attention. — Passing  by  a  station's  freight 
Promiscuously  piled,  I  spied  a  crate, 
Doubly  compartmented   for  occupants: 
A  fuzzy  little  roll  of  lap-dog  fat, 
Whimpering,   whining,  yelping — eyes  aswim; 
A  square- jawed  bulldog,  just  a  little  grim. 
More  than  his  wont,  no  doubt,  but — standing  pat. 
Like  a  barbed  seedling  caught,  the  picture  clings, 
Which  Aesop  might  have  captured  for  his  scrolls, 
And  made  a  pricking  lesson  of — afresh 
Indulging  his  old  bent  for  fabling  things — 
On  how  to  meet  discomfiture,  our  souls 
Awaiting  shipment  in  their  crates  of  flesh. 


[135] 


OUTBOUND 


Kelp 

INTERLACED  flora,  maze  and  tangle  of  growth ! 

The  same  I  saw  last  night  and  yester-year, 

The  same  God  saw  in  yester-aeon: 

Wonderful  to  us  both !  .  .  . 

Whether  in  North  afar  its  peace  or  here, 

Or  fusing  dream  with  waters  Caribbean, 

To  keep  identity  of  selfhood  so, 

To  thrive  on  menace,  unperturbed  to  grow 

Despite  the  impact  of  the  tidal  seas, 

Merits  a  little  heed  in  days  like  these. 

Assaulted  constantly  by  burly  breakers, 

Yet  ne'er  repaying  blow  for  blow; 

Peacefuller  than  Quakers, 

Albeit  Ocean  bugles  in  its  ear 

To  legionary  onset  and  a  host 

Makes  thunderous  bombardment  of  the  coast; 

Ne'er  giving  way  to  fear, 

Keeping  in  strength  and  spirit  equipoise, 

Despite  confusion,   turmoil,   noise; 

Surf-buffeted,  storm-howled-at,  ocean-hissed, 

Yet  still — pacificist; 

[136] 


KELP 

Gigantic,  yet  with  Sabbath  mood  alway, 

June  or  December,  night  and  day; 

Verily  here  I  find 

In  stringy  kelp  of  homely  brown 

What  I  have  searched  the  world  for  up  and 

down, 

Nor  hoped  might  ever  be, 
Whether  in  world  of  matter  or  of  mind ! 
Of  such  as  Kelp  the  Kingdom  verily!  .  .  . 

Changeless,  and  yet — all  changed! 

For  where  is  aught  the  same  in  world  so  wracked 

And  anguished  as  to-day's? 

Almost  I  walk  estranged 

With  sea,  with  morn,  impotent  to  react 

To  the  bloom,  the  glow,  wherewith  they  meet 

my  gaze. — 

I  said :  ' '  Poor  thrift,  this  sleeplessness  abed ! 
I'll  up  and  hie  me  where  the  Sea  halloos 
His  tides.    I'll  up  and  share  the  morning  red 
With  ocean  kelp.  Mayhap  a  blend  of  hues 
Rarer  and  richer  now  is  on  the  ooze 
Than  I  have  thrilled  to  yet, 
Trysting  with  sea  at  rise  of  sun  or  set."  .  .  . 
Surmise  was  not  amiss: 
Ne'er  bed  of  kelp  more  multihued  than  this! 

[137] 


OUTBOUND 

A  spirit  of  beauty  is  abroad  this  hour 

In  rarity  like  a  flower. 

What  infinite  repertory  Nature  hath 

Of  joy:  winged  sun  from  ocean's  chrysalis, 

And  cataract  of  stars  out  of  her  gloom ! 

But  man  perverting  her  to  ill, 

Making  her  serve  his  wrath, 

Making  her  sting,  and  stab,  and  kill — 

Therein  and  thence  is  doom. 

And  can  it  be 

Yon  amplitudes  of  kelp  are  being  made 

Means  of  the  world 's  war-madness,  too,  and  aid  ? 

That  yonder  girdle  of  the  sea, 

Oozy  ocean  cincture  of  continents, 

Held  a  hidden  sword,  a  shining  blade, 

Whereby  the  world's  Berserker  wrath  augments 

Slaughter,  this  time  of  fate? 

Flown  o'er  by  pelicans  with  oaring  wings, 

Neighbor  to  ocean  lands  throughout  which  sings 

The  meadow-lark  all  seasons  of  the  year, 

Winter's  no  less  than  spring's, 

How  all  aloof  this  scene  from  hate ! 

How  unconcerned  with  aught  of  fear ! 

Of  the  all-engulfing  war, 

With  nation  slitting  nation's  jugular, 

[138] 


KELP 

And  Teuton  plunge  for  planet  empery, 

What  recked  the  kelp-tranced  sea? 

Yet  lo,  in  the  distance,  barges, 

Harvesting  night  and  day  with  triple  shift 

Of  toil  the  kelp  from  whence  my  soul 's  uplift, 

Rapture  and  spirit  largess ! 

For  Science,  keen-eyed,  hath  espied 

Swathed  high  explosives  in  yon  langorousness, 

Useless,  forsooth,  till  now  in  wind  and  tide. 

Such  the  tentacles  war  hath, 

Such  the  suction  of  its  wrath, 

All-commandeering  war,  without  redress, 

All-spoliating  for  its  own  increase, 

Even  this  morning  dream  and  vesper  peace 

Is  wrought  into  its  Clytemnestra  net, 

And  flung  around  mankind  for  butchery ! 

Great  God,  how  long  shall  yet 

Such  nations '  Ate  be !  ... 

0  the  Nemesis  in  things, 

That  thus  out  of  discovery  only  springs 

More  poison-fanged  a  world  and  keen  of  claw 

To  lacerate  and  rend! 

While  steadfast  Science  labors  to  the  end, 

Translating  matter  into  terms  of  Law, 

Of  bringing  things  beneath  the  sway  of  man, 

Man  'neath  the  sway  of  things  bemeans  himself 

[139] 


OUTBOUND 

As  never  hitherto  since  time  began. 

Anathema !  ' '  Retro  me,  Satana ! ' ' 

To  Science,  if  indeed  her  summing  up 

Be  ill  for  human  kind!    Ay,  dash  it  down, 

If  for  the  race  be  poison  in  the  cup ! 

At  least  the  days  of  Ghibelline  and  Guelph, 

Howso  they  splashed  their  blood-feuds  o'er  the 

town, 

Could  not  coerce  sweet  Nature  to  their  ends 
Of  vengeance  and  affright; 
At  least  when  Greek  fought  fellow  Greek,  their 

might 

Of  mutual  destruction  found  not  help 
And  furtherance  in  clinging  beds  of  kelp, 
Awakened  out  of  oozy  sleep  in  bends 
And  windings  of  the  Grecian  shore. 
Ah,  never,  never  more, 
These  waters  should  be  named  Pacific! 
Surely  all  forfeit  is  the  name  they  bore, 
Being  put  to  use  so  martial,  so  terrific. 

Here  in  high  Dream's  employ, 

And  tense  Hebraic  mood, 

Purged  of  all  individual  alloy, 

These  leagues  of  mighty  ocean  I  surveyed 

As  symbol  of  like  vast  pan-racial  good. 

[140] 


KELP 

Then  suddenly  the  soul  in  me 

Rose  geyser-like  in  wild  apostrophe: 

America,  my  Country,  art  thou  weighed 

In  the  balance  and  found  wanting  ?  0  thou  Land 

Of  promise  unfulfilled,  and  high  desires 

Blasted  like  waves  upon  an  iron  strand! 

With  thy  dread  failure  thou  dost  make  afraid 

Who  trusted  thee,  hoped  for  thee,  and  lit  fires 

For  beacons  on  thy  mountains.    Thou  dost  reel 

With  wine,  art  fat  with  feasting,  and  thy  lips 

Are  the  abode  of  wantonness  and  mirth; 

Thou  peoplest  the  great  deep  with  ships, 

And  on  the  uttermost  earth 

As  conqueror  hast  trod  and  set  thy  heel. 

Yet  thou  hast  made  of  weal 

A  fetish  god,  and  worshipest  thy  gold 

As  calf-delirious  Israel  of  old. 

It  was  not  for  the  dancing  of  such  rite 

Thy  feet  have  forded  seas 

With  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  fire  by  night; 

Nor  passed  they  through  those  dire  calamities 

Of  other  nearer  days,  whereof  the  woe 

Still  lives,  to  stumble  now  and  go  amiss. 

0  lifted  up  by  that  vast  earthquake  throe 

To  be  the  world's  enskyed  Acropolis, 

Thinkest  thou  to  be  hid  ?  .  .  . 

[141] 


OUTBOUND 

Forgive  my  lips,  forgive  me  that  I  chid, 

White  Wonder  of  indomitable  will! 

But  I  would  see  thee  as  I  once  did  see, 

With  prairies,  mountains,  wave-anointed  strands, 

The  Virgin-born  of  Lands, 

Fulfilment  of  thy  singers'  prophecy, 

And  of  all  nations  the  Messiah  still!  .  .  . 

The  sea  itself  upheaves 

To  pace  the  world  with  tides,  and  scattered 
leaves 

Its  kelp  to  etch  the  pathway  of  its  march. 

The  roar  summons  me  back  from  otherwhere — 

The  human  welter  of  energy, 

With  brinier  kelp  from  waters  more  resistless. 

Almost  I  would  the  vastness  seething  there, 

The  waves  with  feet  that  prance,  with  necks  that 
arch, 

All  the  super-beauty  of  the  sea, 

Might  drug  me  to  forget,  with  heart  grown  list 
less, 

The  pitifulness  and  pathos  of  man's  life, 

The  pitifulness  and  tragedy  of  his  strife.  .  .  . 

Just  when  democracy  was  nascent;  just 

When  man  was  climbing  upward  out  of  dust 

With  something  of  momentum,  and  a  new 

[142] 


KELP 

Sense  of  achievement  thrilled  him  through  and 

through ; 

Just  when  he  thought  to  lay  more  bastions  low 
Of  privilege  and  error,  and  make  way 
With  ancient  exploitations,  and  to  grow 
Into  the  stature  of  himself  indeed — 
Then  this  Nay 

To  his  dreams,  to  his  hopes,  to  God ! 
Then  Belgium  trodden  into  the  sod — 
Ploughed  under  by  the  Teuton  human  plough, 
Before  which  freedom  is  a  noxious  weed, 
That,  flowering,  menaces  with  thorn  and  spike; 
Then  in  that  racial  crisis,  we 
Battening  on  blood-lucre,  Judas-like; 
Nor  even  protesting,  save  for  our  own  rights — 
Studious  of  our  own  ease  and  how 
To  prosper,  whereso  victory  or  defeat! 
But  wherefore,  wherefore  repeat 
Here  within  ear-shot  of  the  moaning  sea 
The  story  of  man's  plunge  adown  the  heights! 
I'll  discipline  myself  to  be  resigned. 
Withdrawal  still  is  possible  and  sweet, 
Withdrawal  still  is  home — 
Pillow  and  cup  and  bread  to  soul  and  mind, 
Wearied  and  sick  of  things  as  they  of  yore. 

[143] 


OUTBOUND 

Civilization  is  a  little  foam, 

Riding  a  little  kelp,  and  cast  ashore, 

And  cancelled  by  a  little  noon  forevennore. 

1916- 

**  See  note. 


1144] 


THE  MELTING  POT 


The  Melting  Pot 

THE  town  was  there  in  force  to  give  the  boys 
Fit  send-off:  coaches,  filled  and  filling,  some 
Twenty  and  more,  that  heads  protruded  from; 
And  music,  waving  banners,  cheering,  noise. 
Forgot  that  day  were  private  griefs  and  joys : 
'Twas  soldier  torn  from  sweetheart,  parent, 

chum; 

'Twas  One-out-of-the-many  flesh  become. 
Thus  War  fulfills,  and  not  alone  destroys. — 
The  parting  neared.    It  somewhat  hushed  the 

throng. 

One  picture,  given  heed  that  moment,  stays: 
Twain,  face  to  face — aged  father,  stalwart  son. 
"Take   God  along  to  France"   in   Norseman's 

tongue, 
I  caught — and  watched   their  mutual   farewell 

gaze, 
Intent  and  lingering.  .  .  .  The  train  was  gone. 


[145] 


OUTBOUND 


Democracy 
I 

At  gaze  I  stand — backward  the  endless  miles: 
Mediterranean  splintered  capes  and  isles 
Aryanized  at  length, 

Lo,  Man  beginning  to  put  forth  his  strength 
On  land,  and  flaking  with  first  sails  the  sea ! 
Lo,  up  and  down  great  battle-fields,  commanders, 
Sowing  their  mandates  among  soldiery, — 
The  legions  whence  great  Caesar  harvested 
Empires;  the  cohorts  which  were  Alexander's, 
Crisscrossing  Asia  with  unwearied  tread ! 
Then    loosed    upon    the    South    the    whelming 

hordes, — 

Out  of  the  Gothic  wilds  wave  upon  wave 
In  white  and  terrible  surf  uphurled 
Against  a  dykeless  world! 
And    fallow    centuries    lingered    through    with 

patience, 

Until  the  welter  Zionward  of  nations, 
With  onset  of  resistless  swords, — 
Occident  against  Orient — for  a  Grave! 

[146] 


DEMOCRACY 

Then — the  Great  Quickening! 

Man 's  mind,  an  Aetna,  active  once  again ! 

Twin  Americas  plucked  out  of  the  seas 

By  the  dreaming  Genoese! 

Like  the  multi-myriad  progeny  of  Spring, 

New  universes  out  of  spatial  vastnesses, — 

The  olden  universe  withdrawn: 

And  curtain  of  the  Temple  rent  in  twain 

For  the  instreaming  Dawn! 

Anon,  Science,  big-limbed,  unkempt, — 

The  serpent-strangling  Babe  sublime ! 

Anon,  the  Dream  the  prescient  ages  dreamt, 

Being  bodied  forth  at  last, — 

Democracy!  .  .  .  out  o^  the  frustrate  Past, 

Out  of  its  unachievement  and  attempt, 

In  the  fulness  born  of  Time !  .  .  . 

II 

Wherefore  to  sing  hath  none  essayed 
The  Wonder  and  the  Terror  that  is  she — 
Climactic-born  Democracy  ? 
Is  it  that  being  afraid 
Makes  dumb  the  bardling  tribe, 
Or  is  their  silence  mockery  and  a  gibe? — 
What   whisper   heard   I   breathed   from   some 
where:  "Hers, 

[147] 


OUTBOUND 

The  blame  of  irremediable  curse! 
Through  her,  lo,  million-funneled  Industry, 
That  smoke-bedims  the  skies 
With  reek  of  Erebus,  belched  forth  amain, 
And  fouls  with  offal  river,  hill,  and  plain ! 
'Tis  she  hath  tutored  Man  to  mammonize — 
His  brain  to  scheme,  but  not  his  heart  to  feel; 
She  webbed  the  globe  with  steel; 
Made  clang  and  grinding,  hiss  and  shriek, 
For  cleanly  hamlet,  city  stench  and  reek, 
The  factory,  for  toil  in  fields  abloom 
And  woman  singing  at  the  loom.  .  .  . 
Distinction,  artistry — of  what  account? 
Bulk's  paramount! 

An  Age  of  Everything-en-masse  begun! 
All  things,  all  men — chaotically  one ! 
Beauty  is  dead,  Soul  at  an  end: 
Let  us  strew  ashes  on  our  heads,  our  garments 
rend!"  .  .  . 

Ill 

Dolts!  were  it  good,  then,  to  bring  peace  on 

earth? 

Nay,  still  the  sword ! 
Of  toiling  were  it  good  to  make  surcease  ? 
Nay,  verily  the  increase, 

[148] 


DEMOCRACY 

With  sweat  and  knotted  cord, 

Like  travail  waxing  until  stanched  by  birth ! 

With  wrath  be  they  gazed  back  upon, 

Sabbatic,  dawdling  centuries  agone, — 

The  planet  trundled  day  and  night  through 
space, 

And  yet  so  little  done 

To  build  a  marriage  bower  and  spirit  dwelling- 
place  ! 

Now  that  the  builder's  labor  doth  begin 

Mid  the  timbers  lying  prone. 

And  not  yet  the  corner  stone, 

Plain  we  that  still  no  door  is  garlanded 

For  the  bridal  entering  in? 

Are  we  vexed  and  sore  bested 

That  digged  foundation  raiseth  dust  o'erhead? 

That  mauling  of  the  cedar  maketh  din? 

For  the  slag  and  excrement 

Wherewith  each  new-oped  shaft  must  needs  be 
foul, 

Were't  better  that  the  Mount  had  not  been  rent 

And  pierced  even  to  the  wealth  it  doth  em 
bowel — 

The  iron,  the  marble,  the  gold, 

Whereof  Jehovah's  house — 

[149] 


OUTBOUND 

But  kept  intact  for  pasture  as  of  old, 
And  yielding  goats  a  little  shrubby  browse? 

IV 

A  half-score  yester  decades  back, 

What  was  the  world?  .  .  .  To-day,  what  is  it 

not?  .  .  . 

To-day,  smoking  with  thaw,  and  harrowed  black 
For  sowers, — tilth  wherever  the  globe's  curve  is, 
Uncouth  yet  vernal,  vastly  taking  shape ; 
Where  yesterday — perchance,  a  garden  plot, 
Sporadic  culture  of  the  grape, 
Showing  but  lag,  eleventh-hour,  vineyard  service. 
And  whence  the  Change,  heartening  so  the  blood 
Of  rapt  historic  onlooker  abroad  ? 
Whence  everywhere  Herculean  emprise 
On  land  and  sea,  in  skies  ? 
Out  of  Democracy  sprang  not  and  grew 
This  world- wide  derring-do?  .  .  . 
Why  else  the  great  material  challenge  flung, 
Whereat  the  new-age  chivalry  upsprung? 
East,  West,  and  South,  and  North, 
How  battailous  have  been  its  goings-forth, 
And  hardihood  in  fight ! 
Nor  only  wildernesses  made  to  yield, 
Or  trade  enhanced  in  mart  and  crops  afield, 

[150] 


DEMOCRACY 

But  Woman  roused  and  strenuous  in  zeal 
For    selfhood's    due,    the    Child's    law-fended 

weal, — 

Attest  not  these  Democracy  aright? 
What  Power  but  this  hath   sceptered  knouted 

Man- 
Worm  in  the  dust,  heel-trod,  since  Time  began,— 
Ay,  makes  even  thrall  in  the  dust 
Lord  of  himself  by  influence  august !  .  .  . 
Him — ridden  one  made  Rider,  hath  she  taught 
With  dauntlessness  of  will  to  rein  and  curb; 
She  lessoned  him  in  chariotry  superb 
Until  himself  he  shies  at  naught; 
And  therefore  hath  it  come  to  be, 
Amongst  the  Forces    'neath  his  mastery, 
One  swift,  a  swifter  yet  doth  supersede, 
Foaled  of  the  tameless  welkin  for  his  steed; 
Which,  too,  while  aeons  gather  and  disperse, 
To  others  must  needs  yield,  till  Man,  perchance, 
Become  choregus  of  the  stars  in  dance, 
For  a  little  change  of  glee, 
Will  vault  upon  the  saddled  universe, 
And  ride  the  pampas  of  eternity. 
Who  knoweth  whereof  potent  he? 
Whereof  fain  his  spirit  feels? 
The  centuries  are  pools  splashed  by  his  chariot 
wheels.  .  .  . 

[151] 


OUTBOUND 


Like  looming  mountain  height, 

Uprist  to  peer  beyond  horizon  bourne 

For  the  coming  forth  of  Morn, 

So  the  consciousness  of  Man  this  hour  is  white 

With  summit  splendor.   Now  he  knows  elate 

Himself  the  victor  duelist  with  Fate, 

Job  of  the  terrene  ash-heap  though  he  seemed. 

It  suddenly  befell  he  wist 

Himself  protagonist, 

This  cosmic  Dreamer  who  on  earth  hath  dreamed. 

Blind  player  led  unto  the  organ  keys, 

Or  groping  for  harp  strings, 

And  yet  by  Spirit  wielding  over  Things 

Omnific  potencies! 

And  hence  his  Faith  therefrom, 

Though  yet  appear  not  what  he  shall  become, 

That  nothing — neither  Matter's  empery, 

Nor  sovereignties  and  kingdoms  of  the  world, 

Nor  Time,  nor  Change,  nor  Death,  nor  Destiny, 

Nor  the  universe  itself  against  him  hurled, 

Can  separate 

And  plunge  him  from  his  soulhood's  high  estate. 

Even  Europe's  writhings  veto  not  his  creed, 

In  the  wake  of  War — like  Juggernaut 's  of  Ind, 

Nor  the  million-throated  Need 

[152] 


DEMOCRACY 

Now  rife  on  earth  like  wailings  of  the  wind. 

He  knows  the  racial  pain  must  come  to  naught — 

Be  utterly  at  end, 

When  a  little  more  he  shall  have  wrought 

After  his  heart 's  desire  with  zest  impassioned. 

For  he  hath  schooled  himself  to  cpmprehend 

Achievement,  nor  shall  pause  till  he-can  say, 

At  gaze  upon  the  world  beneath  his  sway: 

' '  Lo,  the  Kingdom  as  in  Heaven,  my  hands  have 

fashioned!"  .  .  . 
November  1918. 


[153] 


OUTBOUND 


Advent 

UNTO  every  age,  unto  every  clime, 

Sooner  or  later  comes  the  sublime 

Messiah  yearning:  anear,  afar, 

Heralding  Birth  in  manger,  the  Star! 

Under  the  spell  of  that  crescent  hope, 

Tidal  world-spirit  leaps  toward  the  cope ; 

And  Man,  appearing  dormant,  inert, 

Like  mountain  with  cincture  of  vineyards  begirt, 

Is  all  volcanic  at  soul. 

Albeit  darkling,  he  gropes  toward  Goal, 

And  knows  every  moment  with  meaning  fraught ; 

Browsing  and  sleeping  give  way  to  thought; 

Mute-born  lips  are  unsealed: 

"To  Whom  is  the  hand  of  the  Lord  revealed?" 

December  1918. 


[154] 


GESTANT 


Gestant 

Nine  moons,  and  lo,  the  infant  life  unwombed ! 

Centuries  of  gestation,  and  lo,  still 

Earth  gestant  with  her  unborn  Good  or  111 ! 

Yet  whatso  advent  ages  thus  consumed, 

The  New  out  of  the  Old  shall  come, 

Nor  with  outward  observation,  but  uprist 

With  a  footfall  spirit-whist, — 

The  eponym  of  worlds  to  spring  therefrom. 

The  New  out  of  the  Old  .  .  .  and  not  one  jot 

Or  tittle  of  existence  come  to  naught. 

Ere  the  mornward  eyes  of  Greece, 

The  timeless  night  of  Egypt's  dynasties; 

Ere  Dante's  dome  of  Thought, 

The  feudal  making  brick  with  toil-won  straw. 

To-day  in  dead  millennia  hath  root : 

Thence  do  our  sapling  years  the  marrow  draw 

From  whence  their  flower  and  fruit. 

Yet  Calvary,  Parnassus,  are  not  Goal, 

But  mile-stones  in  the  onward  march  of  soul. 

To-morn  the  social  order  of  to-day 

Into  the  oven  may  be  cast  straightway. 

January  1919. 

[155] 


OUTBOUND 


In  Campo  dei  Fiori 

"Awakener  of  sleeping  minds,"  the  role 
Given  him  to  act  in  human  things  he  styled — 
Giordano  Bruno  of  impetuous  soul. 
Volcanic  as  his  natal  soil,  and  wild 
As  the  unearthly  beauty  there  enisled, 
He  was  ordained  such  mission  as  by  Fate; 
Yet  mingled  therewith  something  of  the  child, 
Even  as  Shelley,  his  true  spirit  mate, — 
Which  childlike  faith  but  made  him  the  more 
great. 

He  was  of  those  who  hail  the  world's  rebirth 
As  spring  is  hailed  afar  by  prescient  lark; 
Who  dance  before  rejuvenated  earth 
As  royal  David  danced  before  the  ark, 
Bestored  to  Zion, — all  too  glad  to  mark 
A  window  opened  and  his  queen  looked  scorn: 
Nor  heeded  he  what  power  above  him  dark 
Was  lowering,  but  with  eyes  intent  on  morn 
Thrilled  with  the  gladness  of  the  world  reborn. 

[156] 


IN  CAMPO  DEI  FIORI 

An  exile  and  a  wanderer,  he,  with  menace 
Of  doom  above  him  like  a  sun  befogged 
Into  a  lurid  red:  at  last  'twas  Venice, 
No  longer  island  queen,  but  harlot  bogged 
With  treachery,  his  winged  feet  enmeshed  and 

clogged. 

As  hawk  eyes  quarry,  hankering  to  give  chase, 
Rome    long   had    eyed    him   and    his    footsteps 

dogged : 

Gloating  she  dungeoned  him  a  seven-year  space, 
Then  burned  him  in  her  jubilee  year  of  grace. 

"I  go  to  carry  the  Divine  in  me 

To  that  Divine  beyond ! "  .  .  .  Thus  breathed  his 

lips 

Their  parting  breath.    0  world  too  blind  to  see 
What  awful  sunburst  thou  dost  deem  eclipse ! 
The  seeming  heresy  that  sinks  its  ship's 
Anchor,  where  thou  canst  -only  drift  and  toss, 
Till  Truth's  immovable  bed-rock  its  grips; 
And  martyr  gaze,  but  the  more  luminous 
Because  in  death  averted  from  the  cross!  .  .  . 

Thou  Ganymede  of  thine  own  eagle  thought, 
Which  bore  thee  up  to  conclave  of  the  gods, — 
Not  unto  futile  deities  once  wrought 

[157] 


OUTBOUND 

By  ancient  fancy:  Jove  no  longer  nods, 
Shaking  the  heavens  with  dread,  nor  is  the  sod 's 
Dew-sheen  the  footprint  of  a  goddess  fair; 
Yet  lifted  above  life  that  toils  and  plods, 
Through  regions  of  unfathomable  air, 
In  a  divine  existence  thou  hast  share. 

In  more  august  assembly  dost  fulfill 

Some  function  worthy  thy  rich  spirit  dower: 

Great  Galileo — Galileo  still 

By  virtue  of  the  after- whisper's  power; 

The  elder  Bacon,  luminous  as  tower 

That  takes  with  sudden  gleam  the  midnight  seas ; 

And  cowled  Savonarola,  too,  and  our 

Own  Milton,  ay,  and  Attic  Socrates — 

If  cup-bearer  thou  be,  it  is  to  these. 

Promethean  spirit,  filching  liquid  fire, 
Not  from  one  solar  fountain  source  alone, 
But  on  the  tameless  wings  of  high  desire 
Flitting  'twixt  worlds  as  bee  'twixt  flowers  full 
blown, 

To  make  their  inmost  flaming  soul  thine  own, 
And  so  return  with  inward  splendor  crowned 
That  the  world's  darkness  might  be  overthrown — 
Thou  here  transfixed,  with  suffering  profound, 
Bound  but  to  be  forevermore  unbound !  .  .  . 

[158] 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


The  Tragic  Muse 

BYRON'S  ejaculations  when  the  road 

Grew  devious,  where  his  fiery  soul  he  spurred; 

The  spirit  cry  from  Shelley  that  a  bird, 

Lone-soaring,  in  the  highest  heaven  abode ; 

The  thunder  of  that  tidal  wave  which  flowed 

In  upon  Dante,  so  with  Vision  stirred; 

And  Shakespeare's  Fourfold  Uttermost  ...  I 

heard, 

Wondering  what  more   hath   singer's   gift  be 
stowed. 

I  asked  and  lo,  still  Twain  unto  the  soul — 
Like  an  eclipse,  that  overmasters  skies, 
And  makes  all  landscape  other  than  it  was ! 
Those  whispers  out  of  Time 's  great  hush  of  dole : 
King  Oedipus  with  self-extinguished  eyes  .   .  . 
Friendless  among  his  friends,  the  Man  of  Uz.  .  .  . 


159] 


OUTBOUND 


April  23 

WHEN  Mary  Arden  crooned  to  her  third-born, 

Making  his  rude  crib  rhythmic  to  her  song, 

Or  bent  her  o'er  his  slumber,  gazing  long, 

Came  not  some  moment  when  the  veil  was  torn 

In  sunder,  and  the  glory  to  be  worn 

By  him  in  manhood's  fulness  dazed  her  sight? 

Streamed  not  of  a  sudden  in  upon  her  night — 

As  in  upon  another  Mary — Morn? 

His  natal  day  once  more!  ...    Ye  who  would 

praise, 

Make  pause  before  his  Mother,  head  bowed  low, 
And  having  entered  in  with  feet  unshod; 
Even  in  Religion's  wise,  who  dare  not  raise 
Her  voice  unto  the  Highest,  lest  it  grow 
Dumb  before  awfulness  of  too  much  God. 


[160] 


AND  ALL  THE  GODS  WERE  GAZING  ON  THEM 


"And  All  the  Gods  Were  Gazing 
on  Them" 

THRICE   around   walls,   his   prowess   hath   kept 

whole ; 

Thrice  before  gates  barred  in  the  hour  of  doom : 
Behind,  that  Terror  of  lance  and  helmet  plume, 
Wherefrom  astrain  like  racer  for  the  goal, 
His  race  with  Death !  .  .  .  What  save  his  widow's 

dole, 

And  her  breast 's  orphan,  thus  postpones  the  tomb 
With  plying  of  swift  knees  by  one  than  whom 
Never  more  strange  to  fear  a  warrior  soul ! 
Him,  hot  in  flight,  the  phantom  brother  stays, 
And  heartens  to  the  combating, — yet  flown, 
The  moment  of  accepted  battle  gage, 
And  weapon  hurled,  his  piteous  backward  gaze : 
And  Hector,  spearless,  sees  himself  alone, 
In  the  dreadful  flash-light  of  Pelides'  rage. 


[161] 


OUTBOUND 


If 


IP,  nothing  by  me  wrought,  nothing  attained, 
My  face  were  touched  into  autumnal  snow; 
If  this  quick  heart  with  ramifying  roots 
Of  impulse,  but  uncrowned  with  flowers  of  deed, 
Froze;  if  from  night  as  from  a  rich  black  loam 
No  Rose  of  Dawn  I've  dreamed  might  come  to 

blossom, 

Ere  the  morn's  breezes  moaned  my  threnody — 
Cold,  cold  would  be  the  emerald  covering;  hard 
The  bed  with  gravel  bolster;  evil  dreams 
Would  give  the  lie  to  Death's  feigned  dream- 

lessness ; 

The  dark  tomb  would  enclasp  me,  envying 
The  one  still-born,  and  calling  to  the  hills 
To  hide  from  the  great  Talent-Giver's  eyes. 


[162] 


ILLUSION 


Illusion 

AH,  chide  not  dream !  .  .  .  The  wavelet  soon,  too 

soon, 
Unlearns  to  clutch  at  stars  and  knows  with 

pain: 

The  mightiest  tide  begotten  of  the  moon 
But  shakes  a  few  foam-petals  from  the  main. 


[163] 


OUTBOUND 


Winter  Mist 

I  SAID  :  ' '  Great  artist,  wondrous  dreamer,  Mist ! ' ' 
Watching  its  witchery  of  frost  o'erhead 
On  trees ;  the  wake,  world-blanching,  of  its  tread 
Spirit-like,  as  if  stealing  to  a  tryst 
In  moonlight,  amid  shadows  to  be  kissed ; — 
Adaze  at  Omnipresent  White  it  shed 
Over  all  things  out  of  the  air,  I  said : 
''Rapt  fellow-artist,  fellow-dreamer,  list: 
I,  too,  by  night  in  revery  have  wrought, 
As  thou;  but  troubled  am  in  mood  to  know 
All  singing  evanescent,  since  with  dawn 
Evanished  ...  by  englutting  Time  made  naught. 
I  learn:  Mist,  working  what  enchantment — lo! 
Letting    the    aeons    have    their    way,    thou'rt 
gone."  .  .  . 


[164] 


Notes 

"And  All  the  Gods  Were  Gazing  on  Them"— p.  161. 
See  Iliad,  Book  XXII. 

"At  School" — p.  55.  For  the  parable  in  bare  out 
line  I  am  indebted  to  Felix  Adler. 

"Behold  This  Dreamer  Cometh"  — p.  9.  Freely 
adapted  from  the  Swedish  of  Gustaf  Froding. 

"Calamus" — p.  77.  The  title  of  this  poem  was  bor 
rowed  from  Leaves  of  Grass,  where  it  heads  a  series 
of  poems  celebrating  comradeship. 

"Condolence" — p.  75.  Composed  in  memory  of  the 
late  Richard  Watson  Gilder. 

"I  Dreamed  That  Dream  Was  Quenched"— p.  16. 
First  appeared  in  "The  Lyric  Year,"  a  century  of 
poems  by  various  authors,  published  by  Mitchell  Ken- 
nerley,  1917. 

"Judgment" — p.  51.  First  published  in  the  Century 
Magazine,  May,  1911. 

"Kelp" — p.  136.  Summering  on  the  Pacific  coast 
in  1916,  I  lived  within  sight  and  hearing  of  barges 
that  ceaselessly,  night  and  day,  were  harvesting  kelp. 
By  recent  discovery  kelp  had  been  made  a  source  of 
potassium  salts,  used  in  the  manufacture  of  certain 
explosives.  Out  of  these  circumstances  came  the 
theme  of  the  poem.  Its  arraignment  of  America  on 
account  of  our  seeming  indifference  and  lethargy  at 

[165] 


NOTES 

the  time  in  relation  to  the  European  crisis  may  be  of 
historical  interest,  although  fortunately  our  whole 
hearted  later  participation  in  the  war  changed  the 
situation.  The  poem  first  appeared,  somewhat  ab 
breviated,  in  the  "Forum"  of  New  York,  March,  1917. 

"Mothering"— p.  93:  Written  for  the  Twenty  Fifth 
Keunion  of  the  Class  of  '92,  University  of  Minnesota. 

"Progress" — p.  96.  Adapted  from  the  prose  of 
W.  K.  Clifford's  Lectures  and  Essays. 


[166] 


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